It was completely, totally, and unarguably Stephen's fault.
It was Stephen who had convinced the entire fucking TEAM to start using the Vulcan hand thing when meeting new people. Now the entire Pegasus galaxy seemed to be under the impression that it was a standard greeting among their people. Any Pegasus native who spotted an SGC uniform was almost guaranteed to hold up a hand, middle and ring fingers parted, and wish them long life and prosperity.
"You know the anthropologists are having a shit-fit about you...'corrupting the native cultures of this galaxy'."
Stephen snorted. "We corrupted that the day Colonel Sheppard woke the Wraith. I think this is just a bit less traumatizing."
Jon was silent for a moment, then he grinned. "Do the eyebrow." When Stephen obligingly raised a stern eyebrow, Jon giggled. "Less traumatizing I'll give you, but I think you're tied on intimidation."
"Those soul-sucking catfish-faced douchebags don't stand a chance," Stephen intoned.
Jon laughed again. "Quit distracting me from my exciting soil samples, man."
" Ooh," Stephen said sarcastically. " Dirt."
"Dirt with pH levels," Jon corrected solemnly.
Jon and Stephen both looked up sharply at the roar, then turned to each other and rolled their eyes.
"Kids!" Jon called. "Settle down!"
"And quit baiting Riggle!" Stephen added.
"Oh but Mum, Dad, he started it!" Dr. Oliver called back childishly.
"And I will come over there and stop it if you don't behave!" Stephen shouted, pointing at them.
"Ooh, Daddy's maa-aad," sing-songed Sam Bee, from the Canadian Forces.
"Hey, how come I'm the mom?" Jon complained.
Stephen opened his mouth to reply, then suddenly yelped and brought his hand to his mouth. "Ouch! "
Jon quickly stood up from his crouch, brow furrowed with worry. "Are you okay?" he asked, reaching for a vest pocket. "Hang on, I've got some band-aids and disinfectant."
Raising an eyebrow, Stephen smirked and held up his hand, completely undamaged. "And that, my friend, is why you're the mom."
Jon threw the tube of disinfectant at him.