Genre: POV, Gen
Archived:Sci-Fi Dreams, majordavis.com
Beta: Renee, Erica 
Rating: PG - maybe some language. 

Spoilers/Season: Anything before Meridian since that episode never existed in my world. 
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I've written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. Not to be archived without permission of the author. 

Notes: At Gatecon, Colin Cunningham was asked what he knew about Major D that we the fans didn't. After a wonderful disclosure that Davis wears pantyhose he answered that he saw Davis as a loner, very into his job and not exactly the most sociable fella (yes, I've paraphrased). Well after his answer, I started getting a very good picture of Davis and the idea of writing about a typical day in his life began to form in my head. So, Thank You Colin for inspiring this fic both with your insight into the character and your wonderful portrayal of him. Special thanks to my Betas Renee and Erica, you girls rock!

The alarm clock buzzes loudly in my ear and I'm on my feet before my eyes are even fully open. A quick shower wakes me up and after pulling on my robe I head to the kitchen to get my first cup of coffee. My routine is always the same unless there's an emergency at the Mountain - then all bets are off. Trust me though, it's better that I have that coffee first thing in the morning no matter where I am. After all, I am allowed one vice and coffee is it. With the caffeine flowing through my veins I head back to my bedroom and double check to make sure my uniform is in order. As usual, nothing is out of place. To say I am meticulous about my Blues is an understatement. Glancing at the clock, I see that I'm right on time so I head off to shave and finish my morning routine. Freshly groomed, uniform pressed and shoes freshly buffed to a shine I head out the door. 

Traffic is bad, but that's not uncommon. I consider switching off the radio but the traffic reports can be helpful. I have to admit, this station plays the right blend of music and news to get my fingers tapping against the steering wheel while also letting me stay focused on what's happened in the world in the past eight hours. Al Qaeda is still causing trouble, the Stock Market is still a mess, and another person is missing. There's little in the news to cheer me up, but the sound of a child's laughter in the next car over does the trick. An easy smile spreads across my face and I focus on the sound of the laughter reaching me through the lowered windows. Long after the car has turned into Georgetown Elementary I keep hearing the child's laughter echo in my ears and it reminds me of the reason I got out of bed and headed to work. With that simple reaffirmation, I feel confident and determined. Heading into the Pentagon I pass through every security check with a polite nod to the SFs although my mind is already turned towards the budget review I have to present in twenty minutes. 

The outer office of the Joint Chiefs of Staff isn't a quiet place, but no one expects it to be. The Joint Chiefs are incredibly busy; it stands to reason their offices would be a haven of controlled chaos. In contrast, the silence that permeates my own small office is a soothing balm. Several messages are on my desk already, but I ignore them. They're from the few senators in the know and they all want to know why we're still wasting money on the Stargate program when we're in the middle of a war. They believe that since the Goa'uld haven't directly attacked us in months we must be safe. Sometimes I think they ignore all the reports the SG teams put together and accept whatever rumor sounds the best instead. The phone rings and for the briefest moment I consider just letting it ring but I could be ignoring someone vitally important so I grab the receiver. "Davis," and my workday has truly begun. 

Leaving the budget review I feel like a jackhammer is hard at work on the inside of my head. It's a struggle to keep any expression off my face but somehow I manage. As I walk back to my office I speak to several people, none of which I know as well as I should. I decline various offers to grab a quick lunch or a drink after work. These people have no idea how much work I have to do now that Appropriations has questioned the usefulness of the Stargate program yet again. Those teams go out there and risk their lives on a daily basis and these Suits think it's a waste of time! They have no idea how many times these soldiers (and scientists) have saved our world, or how many technologies, medicines, and other advances they attempt to gain every day. It's no wonder I'm popping Aleve and TUMS like candy once I reach my office. 

Most people believe the true research goes on at Groom Lake, but they forget about the scientists within Cheyenne Mountain. Major Samantha Carter's name is whispered with reverence because of the Naquada reactor she and her team of scientists built. Dr. Frasier's own research into the various toxins and medicines brought through the Gate leave the medical researchers here drunk with excitement. And the Social Sciences department stays on a constant high from the artifacts and cultures that are discovered every time they go through the Stargate. If we could make their findings public, the entire world would have to go back to school to relearn Earth's history. It's my job to make sure the men and women holding the purse strings understand the significance of this program and quit looking at the admittedly considerable bottom line. 

Sometimes it bothers me to know I've become a bit of a Spin-Doctor. It isn't what I set out to do when I joined the military, but I've found I'm good at it. General Hammond has helped me become even better thanks to the advice he's given me over the years. While he's not my direct commanding officer, he is a man I respect more than I think he'll ever know. I like to think we have a good working relationship but that belief is sorely tested on days like this. Hammond is well organized and his reports are very detailed. So when he receives a phone call from me asking for even more detailed information he tends to be a bit indignant. "Just what information do you want, Major? The last budget analysis reported everything from weapons acquisitions to how many boxes of blue Jell-O the mess hall ordered!" 

"I know that, Sir, but the Senate Appropriations Committee is balking at signing off on the new budget. We have to show them that the funds are truly necessary." I hate having to placate people, but in Hammond's case it's an annual event. Every year we go through a budget debate and every year it's the same argument. 

"Don't these people realize we're fighting a war out there?" 

I pinch the bridge of my nose and nod although he can't see me through the phone. "Yes, Sir, but we're also fighting one here on Earth. And this one is a lot closer to home and has the backing of the American people. General, the money to pay for it has to come from somewhere. Unless we can convince the Senators of the Stargate's importance then our budget could be cut in at least half if not more." 

Hammond sighs heavily and I bite back a triumphant smile. After four years of dealing with the General I know the signs of acceptance, defeat, outrage, and just about every other emotion he's given into in front of me. The threat to the SGC is a real one but tucked away in the mountain like he is, Hammond doesn't always see it unless I point it out to him. It's a distasteful part of the job, and probably one of my least favorite parts but it has to be done. "All right, Major. I'll see what we can get to you by the end of the day." 

"Thank you, Sir," I say without a hint of gloating in my voice. It is never wise to gloat when you come out on top of a debate with General Hammond. If those fools at the NID ever figure that out they just might be more dangerous than they already are. As I hang up the phone I breathe a sigh of relief. If Hammond wasn't as cooperative as he is my job would be a lot harder. 

Reports, reports, and more reports. Some of these make for fascinating reading. However, others are so full of scientific lingo I need a dictionary on hand to help me figure out just what is being said. Thankfully, the Social Sciences department reports are normally easy to digest. I think Dr. Jackson has something to do with that. Usually he has to repeat himself since once he gets started on a theory or a lecture he leaves the rest of us in the dust. Luckily when he does start to explain exactly what he's talking about he does it in layman's terms. Over the years I think he's gotten used to writing his reports like they were lecture notes for an Archeology 101 class. He always makes sure the lowest common denominator can understand and he gets so excited about the missions I sometimes have to wonder if he went on the same mission as the rest of SG-1. 

With an armload of files I head out of my office towards the center courtyard to eat my lunch and read a few of these reports in relative privacy. If I stayed in my office today I would just wind up with heartburn from dealing with the penny-pinching Senators that want to shut the SGC down. I know it's my job to deal with them, but after that meeting this morning I just need a few minutes to myself. Half an hour and I'll be back at it. 

True to my mental promise I'm back in my office a half hour later. Four messages are waiting for me as well as transfer orders and requests I'll need to pass along to General Hammond on my next trip out to Colorado. If Military transports handed out Frequent Flyer Miles I'd have enough for an all expenses paid trip to Fiji by now. I'm spending more and more time out at Cheyenne Mountain, but I don't mind. Being a part of the SGC is important to me, even if no one without the appropriate security clearances knows about it. 

With a quick glance at my watch I gather up the reports I need to present to the Joint Chiefs that afternoon. These briefings are almost a daily event, especially when the SGC is dealing with something or someone that is potentially important to our continued existence. Luckily things are running smoothly at the moment so the briefing is little more than a quick progress report. I run through a summary of the various missions in the reports as best I can. While I don't claim to be an expert in any field, I do go through these reports with a fine-tooth comb before I ever present them to the Joint Chiefs. It's the only way I can be confident I'm giving them the information they need. Once the briefing is over I only have five minutes before I'm in my car and heading for Capitol Hill. 

With the coming elections there are several Senators who have to be debriefed about the Stargate Project. Some of them will never be seen on Capitol Hill again, while others will probably be buried in their congressional seat. Each and every one has to go through a through debriefing before the November elections on ever classified project they are aware of. It's a daunting task and thankfully I only have to deal with a handful today, most were at the Appropriations committee meeting this morning so they are completely up to date on SGC projects and activities. After a few handshakes, several ingratiating comments and a few signatures I leave the Hill and head back to the Pentagon and the relative security of my own office. 

The Pentagon is a building that is rarely ever quiet, but in between the hours of six and seven at night the noise lowers to a dull roar. Fewer people move about the corridors and all the secretaries and admin assistants have gone home. After making myself a cup of coffee I head back to my office and settle in to finish going through some of the reports I have to sign off on before heading out to Colorado in three days. Highlighting several things in reports from teams 5, 9, and even 11 I jot down a few notes to discuss with General Hammond and Colonel O'Neill. Other report items send me hunting older reports and mission logs to cross check data. Sometimes I find things of interest that need to be revisited, other times it's nothing but a waste of my time. After about two hours I find that it's difficult to concentrate any longer. I shut down my computer and lock up my files, though a couple of reports have made it into my briefcase to look over when I get the chance. 

I give the guard at the front door a nod as I head outside and put my flight cap on. Switching my briefcase to my left hand I start towards the car pausing to return salutes from a couple of young airmen. Once I reach the car I take a moment to call in an order to a Chinese place around the block from my apartment then head out. Traffic on the way back into Georgetown is only slightly less busy this time of night but I still manage to get home before my dinner is cold. Dropping the take-out containers on the coffee table I move through the apartment and quickly change into a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. While watching the last few minutes of Hannity and Colmes I eat dinner and vaguely pay attention to whatever topic has incensed the two journalists this evening. I catch the news update at the top of the hour then leave the apartment once more for a quick run to the gym. Thank god this place stays open late. An hour's workout and I'm back home. One last check of the news shows that nothing earth shattering has happened in the past hour and I make my way to bed. With music playing in the background I take time out to read a little bit before shutting out the lights. It's not a dramatic or even exciting life most of the time, but I'm proud of what I do. I help protect not just America, but the rest of the world from the dangers found through the Stargate. I couldn't imagine doing anything else. 

- End