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Lost In Conversation by Boots |
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Daniel's a linguist, with geek cheek, house broken and brought home a big pay check - how much can three text books and a kilo of coffee cost a week? Women went for that sort of men. Heck, when the beer stopped flowing and the games were in off-season, Jack would-a think about attaching himself to Daniel, they do all the bickering that came with joint assets anyway. The desert was white, so was the hot sun, the Stargate a silver speck in the distance, Cater, Daniel and Teal'c looked like slow moving sand covered camel backs working laboriously around the ruin. The greatest danger seemed to be skin cancer. "More sunscreen Carter?" Jack offered his tube, protective defence strategist, that's him. Carter looked up, she had a line of zinc over her nose and cheekbones, and dirt got stuck over it. She gave him a grimace. "Can I apply it myself, this time, sir?" Jack shrugged magnanimously. "Sure." "How you doing Daniel?" he strolled over to the man cursing softly in an ancient tongue. "We are . . . trying . . . to move this plaque . . . it won't budge," Daniel heaved. "Good work," Jack patted Daniel's back, it was trembling slightly with muscle strain. Teal'c shot him a blank look over the slab. "I'd help, but Daniel forbad me from touching anything 'of reasonably foreseeable archaeological value'," Jack grinned like the devil. "So there." Jack guessed the airy whimper from Daniel was supposed to be a disdainful retort. God, he was bored. Even teasing Daniel wasn't enough fun to keep him alert. Maybe tormenting Daniel would work. Four days digging sand, check. A week of Daniel and Carter trading archaeological and scientific theories by the campfire, check. Night patrol with Teal'c the non-conversationalist Jaffa, oh yeah, check. Now or never. "So Daniel, what do you think of a foursome marriage?" Jack held out his hand, thumb down, to make sure Daniel got the quartet idea. Although I am Teal'c the strong silent Jaffa, when you drop a big rock on my foot, do I not scream? Nope. Not a peep. "Excuse me?" Daniel helped Teal'c sit on the sandstone and carefully applied first aid. "You, me, Teal'c and Carter, in marital bliss," Jack sighed, looking out into the horizon as if seeing something truly wonderful. "Is this the culture of your world? I was not informed of this by DanielJackson when I joined this team," although the voice was as slow and sonorous as always, the look was urgent, all right. "Don't worry, Teal'c. The Colonel's just pulling our leg," Carter sounded casual, but Jack could see her eyeing his P-90, probably thinking of ways to overwhelm him and take control of command, in case he show more signs of heat-stroke induced unable to command symptoms. "Is this a variation of the human sexual act he is proposing to enact upon us?" "Why yes. As soon as we're all hitched," Jack chuckled. "Okay, considering there's four of us, maybe we'd have to go to Vegas for the ceremony. And someone really should write a Timmy Has Three Daddies and One Mummy." "Sir!" Carter's embarrassment was melting her sunscreen. "That can be taken as unwelcomed advances towards one's immediate subordinate." "Sam," Daniel held her shoulder with one hand, Sam's chest slowed down to a more normal expansion, reduction rate. Did she know she did that? It was a very science fiction babe thing to do, but Jack daren't tell her that, she'd think he was watching her breasts or something. Incidentally, Daniel continued with "I think he's imposing mission anxiety into interpersonal relations." Carter's eyes narrowed, scanning Jack's unshaved face, a wholesome America smile emerged, she nodded. "You're right, Jack's confusing a learned response to keep the team together in all conditions into a longing for inter-familial bonds." "Exactly, so don't worry about it, nothing Freudian at all," Daniel reassured her, fixing Jack with a 'you're a dung beetle and I find you interesting' head tilt. "I hate Freud," Sam agreed with an outraged laugh. "And he was so popular with Psych professors in my time." "Tell me about it," Daniel and Sam huddled close together in united intellectual discussion-ness. Suddenly, Jack felt left out again. Not faintly enough he heard from the bowed gold-brown and platinum blond heads, Daniel's: "I swear Jack's going through male menopause" and Sam's startled giggle. "O'Neill, you have been successful in distracting DanielJackson from work," Teal'c wore an almost smile. "I will make camp." Jack grinned. "Thanks Teal'c." To the other two he said: "Marke but this flea." [1] * * * * * They stepped out of the gate and Jack saw the posters. One was yellow and purple. It said "Disco Nite: Happy 100th Gatecrash SG-1!" He looked at General Hammond, although not daring to point a gun in a two-star's face. "Alternative Reality, Sir?" "Rank initiative Colonel," Hammond corrected. "Medical clearance, debrief 0200 hours." Although Dr Frasier checked them out as usual, Jack grabbed her wrist, the way she bustled was guilty. "Did you organise it?" Dr Frasier seemed unperturbed. "The extra hurtful needle or the bad Commissary lasagne?" "You know what I'm talking about," Jack hissed. "You probably started it." "What can I say, Colonel, SG-1 is beloved on this base," Dr Frasier removed his fingers one by one. "Especially the team's gracious commander." "I hate surprises," Jack emphasised. "Cut down on red meat," she advised, walking away. "Or get surprised by your cholesterol level." The only woman on base who can really grind him and she had to be his physician. He assessed his chances against a date whose only interest in him was his levels, charts and bodily functions. Sure, it sounded sexy in a play-doctor way, but really, Dr Frasier has extracted ingrown hairs off his ass. Slumping forward and balancing his chin in his hands, Jack felt a bit lousy. He'd been knocked back by Daniel, definitely by Carter, no hope with Dr Frasier. That left Teal'c and General Hammond. Good grief, Jack pulled a face, they can have _each other_. Why the narrow field of potential targets? Well, briefly put: Jack 'got' Daniel. Some time between one life risking mission and another, Jack realised Daniel was attractive (refer to the beginning of this long gab). Who, if he put together of Jack's recent folly in seeking companionship in unlikely places, would say he was rationalising it. Rubbing his ear, bitten by a damn alien mosquito too small for his P-90, Jack was inclined to agree. So what if other people worked with him as much as Daniel did, or have a conveniently similar schedule, or looked as good as Sam Carter. Didn't change the fact Daniel was the sum of all things desirable, and Jack wanted him to scratch this itch, like, _yesterday_. Time to rocket out of Junior High, Jack hopped off the medic bed and headed for Daniel's office. Which looked dim and quiet in the computer area. But an annoying leafy sound came from the workshop corner. The rocks sure got out of quarantine quickly. Daniel was all over it with a gigantic piece of tracing paper and a little stub of a pencil. Daniel repeatedly jabbed a corner of the shifting paper harshly until Jack got the hint and gave the service of his thumb to hold it down. Daniel nodded acknowledgement, a torch clamped in his jaws. "Going to the dance?" Jack tilted his chin. Daniel nodded, once, traced a symbol. "Got a date?" Jack jerked his shoulder. Daniel shook his head, reaching for a ruler. "Me neither," Jack held his breath. Daniel did some brushing. "Look, are you busy . . .?" Jack frowned. With a clatter Daniel's torch dropped to the ground, spun, incidentally stopping when it pointed at Daniel's face and made his hair a halo. The rest of the office dimmed. "Yes," Daniel was annoyed. "Very." "Right now?" Jack asked. About to attach the 'How about later' but Daniel cut him short. "They pay me well to do this, Jack," Daniel cocked an eyebrow. So if you won't mind getting lost? Don't I know it, Jack thought with frustration as he left bankrupt of hope, which makes you a catch, which reminds me I wouldn't think so unless I want you, which sucks when all you want are rocks and journals and for me to get lost, urgh! Jack wondered if he should go bug Carter or Teal'c before he headed home, but after Daniel's rejection, didn't really feel up to it. * * * * *
When it dawned on him, in the hot light of noon, no one had told him where the disco night would be held and that three persons were in his living room rearranging his furniture. Dressing quickly, he caught Teal'c in a headlock as the Jaffa concentrated in inflating a balloon. He cast a withering look at Carter and Dr Frasier. "We were going to get the lower rankers to do it, Sir," Carter murmured, eyes lowered, guilty as a school girl caught smoking. "But I told her they might not survive," Dr Frasier took over the balloon and tied it. "We brought the Jaffa as protection." "I am looking forward to the enjoyable socialisation," Teal'c bulged his arms subtly, Jack had to let go or risk pulling his arms out of their sockets. "SGC decided to trash my house?" Jack fell into his couch. "A gesture to honour the leader," Teal'c's poker face was impenetrable. Jack suspected the Jaffa had mastered the human concept of humour long ago and had been toying with them. "Well!" there was nothing to say to that. "I expect this place speck and spam," Jack waved his hand around. "And if I touch, one, ONE, dirty dish the next day!" "Daniel will take care of that, Sir," Carter's face was so entreating Jack had to fight the impulse to adopt her and buy her a pony. "He promised to help out afterwards. Since he's busy with translations before it." "No dance music?" Jack glared. "No, Sir," Carter's nod implied 'you can trust me with the Stargate, you can trust me with your CD-Player'. Reluctantly relenting, Jack picked up a balloon and blew into it. * * * * * "It's Kylie Minogue," the biologist from SG-3 screamed into Jack's ear. The lyrics went "Your disco, your disco, your disco, needs you." [2] "Never heard of her," Jack only wished he could say that in the present tense. "What is she, Australian?!" His petite blond friend paused. "Yes." "Oh," Jack pursed his lips. "You're not, er, from down below, are you?" "Yes," she, Michelle or Mitch, Jack couldn't remember. "I was recruited for my expertise in ancient native aboriginal planet life." Gosh, Jack thought, if I screwed Daniel's head on her shoulders and replaced every green word with a dusty one, I could get turned on by this. Which made him excuse himself for a beer. Jack made sure to keep out of the playing field for the rest of the night, noting mournfully that Daniel never turned up. Only once did Jack fail to escape the disco: someone put on 'Dance Like An Egyptian' and whilst Jack stretched his neck and made the zig zag hands, he wished Daniel was there forming the pyramid with his arms over his head, right beside Jack. The local police department turned up at 2300 hours, after neighbourhood complaints about noise and non-residential parked cars. They joined the party until in the late hours of the night most of SGC left with new found friends on the Force, Carter was cuffed between a male and female officer, grinning with innocent cluelessness. Still no Daniel. The empty beer bottles alone were enough to break any man's heart. Let alone Jack's. Jack sunk into the couch, before the TV still showing Teal'c Phantom Menace video. He ought to close his eyes soon, Jack figured, or he'd risk his SW virginity. Which is a bit novel at his age, never seen SW and never fucked with another man, god, together, Jack was a statistical impossibility. He let his heavy, depressed head fall against the back of the couch, turned his face into a warm dark corner and closed his eyes. "Jack, are you crying?" Daniel's long fingered hand touched his shoulder. "Hmm?" Jack turned around. "Oh," Daniel lifted his hand to wipe the drool from the corner of Jack's mouth. "You were sleeping." "Huh," Jack blinked. "Sorry I'm so late, finally got the translation done, it was a poem about Ra, the rhyming couplets were a nightmare," Daniel explained by way of lame apology. "Ra," Jack turned his head back to the sofa crevice. "Jack," Daniel shook his arm. "I'm here." "For, well, whatever you want me to do." "Dishes," it sounded like that's what Jack mumbled. "Okay," Daniel didn't move. "Anything else?" "Nuf," Jack buried his head deeper. "Oh for crying out loud!" Daniel exhaled, pulling at Jack's shoulders and tugging him up by his armpits. Jack's boots rattled all the way to his bedroom. "I'm in bed," Jack squinted through one eye. "Daniel?" "Cute," Daniel unlaced Jack's feet. "Daniel?" Jack noticed he was getting stripped. "Yeah?" Daniel tugged Jack's denims off. "I'm a virgin," Jack breathed secretively. "With guys." "You want to have a ceremony before I tuck you in?" Daniel smiled softly, Jacked worried it was a 'You're a middle aged man coming out of the closet, and you amuse me' Mona Lisa smile. "'d be nice," Jack drawled. "You have . . . a big . . . fat . . . pay-check." To which Daniel actually laughed. He switched off the lights and closed the door, not entirely shut, behind himself. Went and made some coffee. Jack listened to the spooning, stirring sounds with wide awake panic stricken eyes, aimed at the ceiling. It seemed all their conversations, no matter how close it came, never had meaning. He felt like an illiterate man playing scrabble, trying desperately to spell out 'I need you, please help' without using any vowels. Sipping sounds, a content sigh from caffinated Daniel, patter of expensive leather soled sneakers. Jack stilled himself as the door creaked open once more and in came Daniel, sitting down on the covers and glaring down at Jack's impassive face. Until Jack had to open his mouth an breathe, or die. Daniel had coffee breath and tasted sour when he slid his tongue against Jack's, bitter long black and sweet, sweet, observant, attentive, divine Daniel.
Tau'ri courting poem. John Donne. MARKE but
this flea, and marke in this, [2] Your disco,
your disco, your disco needs you! Desperately
seeking someone willing to travel So lets dance
through all our fears |
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| THE END | |
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