Making Rules

Daniel

Klorel's mothership

Ow.

Maybe that's not the most original thought, and as a linguist I should know lots of other, more appropriate words. But somehow 'ow' just sums it up right now. I must be in shock. I've heard a staff blast to the shoulder does that to a person.

A noise from the control room and then Jack's kneeling in front of me, checking down the corridor to make sure no Jaffa are going to surprise us. Funny, I don't remember shouting for him but I must have. Uh, Jack, you'd be so proud - I think I got them all. Not bad for an archaeologist.

I can't feel my arm, and the numbness is spreading to my legs. I've been here before - this is not a good sign.

"Daniel," he says, reaching out to cup my face. "Dammit!"

There isn't time to say goodbye, Jack. We should have said it earlier, when there was. "I'm dead anyway. Just get out of here!"

I can see it in his eyes - he doesn't want to. Doesn't want to leave me. He'd rather die than leave me. He . . . he loves . . . me?

"I am not leaving you here, Daniel."

Really don't care what you want - if you have to die I want it to mean something. Because the thought of you dying . . . it's killing me already. I can make myself do almost anything, but living in a world where you've died pointlessly just to stay with me is more than I can bear.

"Get out of here!" I order him, trying to hide the pain I know is in my eyes. Why did he have to choose now to have an epiphany? Why did I? "You're just going to blow up with the other ship anyway. Why difference does it make? Go!"

He's still here. "Just go!"

What do I have to say to get him to leave? His eyes . . .

"I'll stay and watch your back," I say, tiredly. I don't have the energy left to argue anymore.

He just looks at me. I could drown in those eyes. I am drowning. Even the pain's gone.

He's moving closer. It's . . . he's . . . oh, wow. Lips on my lips. Kissing. Passion. Love you. Stay? No, no, you can't. Get out of here. Now, while you still can.

I'm kissing him back, just for a moment. One single, precious, eternally too-short moment.

I don't want him to go but he has to. If there's any chance . . . oh, no, not yet. But he's pulling back and looking at me, searching my face. I try to put everything I am and everything I feel into my eyes and he reads it. I know he does. And he knows that I'm right.

I'll watch your back, Jack, don't worry.

It must be enough because he stands up and goes back to the pel'tak without another word.

There's nothing left to keep me here. It would be so easy just to give in to the darkness that keeps trying to draw me down. But I hate to take the easy way out. Jack will find a way so I have to as well. I don't even wait for the sound of the transport rings. The pain is incredible - ice and fire - but I can work through it. Crawling is slow but it will get me there eventually.

I know that if I'd reminded Jack about the sarcophagus he'd have tried to take me there and blown our only chance to stop these ships. He'll try to find a way home before the ships blow because he hates to loose people under his command. And knowing Jack he'll succeed. I've given him the best chance I can, so now it's up to me to make sure I get home too.

***

Jack

I can't believe I'm still alive. How did that happen? This morning we were having a really, really bad day and now I'm alive and if I look up there's the Earth. Never thought I'd see this. For a moment I want to say 'Hey Danny, look at that'. Then I remember. It's a weird feeling to know that this time he's gone for good. I'm guessing that the pain will come later, if we have a later.

"Captain, take a look up," I say, needing to share this with someone.

"It's beautiful." I can hear the wonder in her voice. It just makes missing Daniel hurt more.

"Yes it is."

"We saved it, sir."

But at what price? "Yes, we did."

We're silent for a while. There's nothing we can say.

"It's going to be a beautiful sunset, sir." Carter knows we're going to die. It's in her voice.

At least I won't have to live the rest of my life without Daniel. "You know, Captain, this wasn't such a bad day after all."

"Not bad at all."

I guess if I have to die, at least I have a good view. Couple of years ago this is one view I never thought I'd get. Maybe not trying out for NASA was one of my brighter ideas. The Stargate, and Daniel, would never have come to me if I'd tried that out. All in all, I wouldn't trade the past year for anything.

"We die well, Teal'c," Bra'tac says in his usual 'cheerful' way.

"More than that, old friend," Teal'c says proudly, "we die free."

I'm not so sure about that - something out there is glittering. I think . . . yeah, there it is. "Or not."

Just coming into view is a shuttle, the Endeavour I think, and over the radio they acknowledge seeing us. Looks like we're being rescued. Wonder what kind of medal you get for saving the Earth?

***

The trip back to the surface and to the mountain is a blur. That's the problem with adrenaline - when you come down from it nothing can keep you going. So I'll just retreat into automatic responses and let my brain stop working. Some people might ask what the difference is, but never to my face. Hey, I'm the Colonel - I can have hidden depths if I want to.

The walls of the SGC are familiar and reassuring. Don't need to concentrate to follow everyone to the Gate room. I could find my way there blindfolded. The cheer as we enter is surprising. Yeah, we saved the world. Thanks. But isn't it a little bit inappropriate to be cheering when Daniel's . . . damn, I can't even think the word. How am I going to be able to say it?

Hammond's beaming. No other word for it. If he smiled anymore, his head would fall off. I make appropriate noises and blank out most of the speeches. Bra'tac, at least, doesn't try to give us any unneeded sympathy. One day I might even forgive him for punching me.

As he leaves I brace myself. I know what's coming now. Some meaningless trivia about what a good man Daniel was and how everyone will miss him. SG-1 won't be the same, yadda yadda, on and on. What do they know? Daniel was the team - we'd just be three disconnected soldiers doing our jobs without him. How can anyone put that into words? Er . . . ok, I did. But I left a lot out that can't be put into words.

Hammond is smiling again. I'm confused. "SG-1, there's someone who'd like to see you."

There's a shifting in the group of SF's by the other door as someone edges through the crowd. My heart is hammering so fast I'm sure it's going to rip right out of my chest. It can't be. No way. It's not . . .

"Daniel," Carter says softly.

It is. I hesitate for just a moment. What if it's a dream? Out of the corner of my eye I see Carter gearing up to hug him. Uh-uh, no. Not gonna happen. Nobody's getting their hands on my archaeologist before me. So I'm selfish - sue me.

Now, I've got three choices. I can a) kiss him senseless, b) hug him until I crack a rib or c) stand here like frigging idiot. I'll admit, a) is tempting. But one look at him persuades me that B is the plan to go with, for now. Until I can get him to his office, anyway.

I carefully put my arms around him, and then care goes to hell as I tighten the hug until his ribs creak. Daniel's breath huffs out, warm against my neck, and my blood heads south. I refuse to get sappy, though. Nope, I'm not . . .

"Space Monkey."

Was that my voice? Huh, guess it was. Er, ok, maybe I'll get a little sappy. But I can claim mitigating circumstances. Isn't denial great?

"You wanted to kiss me," Daniel whispers in my ear as I pull back.

"Yeah," I say quietly, cupping his face in my hands.

He blushes and bites his lip. I stifle a groan. I am strong. I will resist. Those lips . . . I will resist. I pat his shoulder and release him. Daniel's smiling at me, a full, happy smile rather than his usual shy half-grin, so I made the right choice. Wouldn't want to embarrass the kid.

Carter pushes past me to hug Daniel and that seems to be the signal for everyone in the goddamned place to cheer and try to grab him. He's looking a little startled now. Jeez - you have no idea what you do to people, do ya Daniel? Maybe I'm biased, but you do something to everyone you meet. They either want to hug you, have sex with you or . . . that's pretty much it really. Even the ones that try to kill you usually start out in group one or two. I'm firmly in both groups, and couldn't be happier. I've got Daniel back and as soon as they let him out of that group hug I'm taking him to his office to show him just how happy I am.

***

Daniel

Waiting for the team to get back from Apophis' ship gave me time to think. Jack's always saying that it's my brain that gets me in trouble and I think he's right again. What happened on the ship was . . . well, ok, it was wonderful. He wants me. Probably as much as I want him. Where did he learn to kiss like that? His kisses should be classified as a dangerous weapon. If he kisses like then what can he . . .

No, I'm not going there. If I go there, I'll never get out of there and that would be a Bad Thing. The capital letters are important here. Jack's kisses are a Good Thing. Jack himself is a Very Good Thing. Our friendship is an Incredibly Good Thing. But put them together with everything else and we end up with a Bad Thing.

God, I can ramble even in my own brain. Quite a talent, Jackson.

The problem is making him see this is a Bad Thing. I sneak a look at him, pacing along the corridor next to me. Yeah, making him see sense isn't going to be easy. He's got this look in his eyes that's making me feel very nervous, and incredibly . . . excited. That's a diplomatic way to put it. We didn't even need to say anything back in the Gate room - he just looked at me and I knew were going to my office. That connection is what's going to make this so difficult.

Finally we reach the sanctuary of my office. While Jack carefully closes the door and locks it, I use the time to move behind my desk. Maybe having furniture between us will help.

I realise my mistake a few seconds later as a sneaky colonel somehow gets across the office and around the desk without apparently occupying any of the space in between. He'll say it's the Special Ops training - I think it's just Jack's bloody mindedness.

And uh, hey! Didn't I say I wasn't going there again?

My resistance is melting in the face of a Jack O'Neil-patented suck out your lungs and melt your bones kiss. Without any conscious direction my tongue is stroking his, curling around, tasting, sending sparks of fire through my veins straight to my groin.

Maybe I'll just give in for a moment . . .

No, no, no. Bad Thing. Remember?

How can something that feels so good be a Bad Thing? I need the blood to return to my brain rather than . . . uh, where it is right now. I have to think. And to do that I need Jack to stop kissing me. Why am I seeing black spots?

Huh, who knew that if you kiss long enough you really will see stars? Ok, breathing would be good.

I tear my mouth away from his and . . . er, was that a groan I just heard? His or mine? Oh, I think it might have been him. Because that was definitely me moaning as he kissed my neck. I made Jack groan. Oops, brain's gone on meltdown again.

Deep breath and . . . I'm wriggling away, squirming and finally I'm free. It didn't help my composure one bit. When I wriggled I definitely felt something that told me this might not quite so simple as I thought it would be. Jack was definitely getting *interested* there. Very. Oh my. I think he was as, uh, interested as I was. Big problem. One of my arguments may be getting shot down in flames before it even gets started.

He's coming towards me again. Have to stop this. "Jack, no. This is wrong."

That stops him in his tracks. Jack looks so hurt - like I've just slapped him. Oh, god, I can't do this if he's going to look at me like that.

"Jack, I'm sorry but . . . we have to talk about this."

He runs a hand through his hair, sighs, but gives in. "Ok, we can do that. Doesn't mean we have to stop-"

"No. Nothing you're about to suggest will lead to a calm, rational talk."

"Maybe we don't need calm and rational. Don't know about you, but I'm not feeling very calm here."

Me neither, but you always say I'm the brains of the operation. Time I started acting like it. "Which is precisely why this is a bad idea. Jack, when did you start to feel this way?"

"Well, I-"

No, I'm not letting you talk. I'll give in if you do. "What if this is just a reaction to nearly dying? I don't know about you but I'd hate to wake up tomorrow and find you hating me. Or-or me hating myself for hurting you."

"But-"

"Have you ever been attracted to a man before? I can't speak for you, but I've had a strictly women-only track record so far. And you're career military. What if this just . . . I don't know . . . wears off? Is it really worth sacrificing our friendship or getting you a court-martial?"

"Daniel, I can't rationalise any of this." The frustration and exasperation in his voice are coming through loud and clear. "Love isn't rational!"

He used the L word. It was the one thing I was counting on him *not* using and he's done it. Jack is supposed to be the one who doesn't do touchy-feely stuff - he is not supposed to be the one using L words. I want to give in so much but . . . if I do it will be the biggest mistake we could possibly make. I depend on him so much - I can't lose him.

I've got one card left to play. I just hope this one works. "Jack, we're confused because we thought we were going to die today. Hell, we went on the mission with no intention of coming back and by some miracle we did. So we got carried away in the moment - we shouldn't have and now we're here we have to remember what we are. Who we are. Why we're here."

This had better work. If our friendship has any chance of surviving this it has to. I may be attracted to my best friend, but I'm in love with my wife and that's the way it should be. So we have to get out now before we get in too deep. Morals are great for biting a guy on the ass at exactly the wrong moment.

"There's one thing you've forgotten. I'm married, and I still love Sha're. Those vows mean something to me still. I can't just forget her and move on while she's still alive out there. She'll be back and I'll have been unfaithful, with no mitigating circumstances to fall back on. It doesn't matter what I feel for you - those vows take precedence."

I think I've got him. I should have used this one on him right from the start - he was married too. He knows what it means.

"Jack, we can work through this but only if we end this now. Please?"

That does it. Something inside him crumbles - I see it in his face - and he's suddenly looking at me with so much sorrow I have to turn away. Sorry, Jack, but it had to be said. I can't give up on Sha're any more than you could give up on Sara until it was truly over. Not even for you. But I can't lose my best friend either.

"Daniel, I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry or I'll have to hit you." I smile, weakly, to let him know I'm joking.

"Ok." He can't look at me either. "For what it's worth, you're a smart guy, Daniel. I wish I were as smart as you sometimes."

Oh.

Well, this is awkward. Neither of us knows what to say now. I think my little lecture poured a nice bucket of ice-cold water over the, uh, tension between us and now we need some time to adjust.

Jack obviously thinks so too. "I'm going to grab a shower. That was quite a ride back home."

"Yeah."

He's at the door before I know it. Damn, he can move fast. Guess he's already shown that more than once today.

"You'll be ok?" he asks.

I plaster a reassuring grin on. "I'll be fine."

"Good." I don't think he's convinced. "Look, if it's all right . . . I'm beat. I don't think I'll be able to make pizza this Friday."

Oh, god, did I just make the biggest mistake of my life? "That's all right."

"Next week?"

"Yeah."

He's gone before I can say anymore. I feel like I've just killed my best friend.

***

Three years later - Jack

Deskwork has never been my favourite activity - I've never pretended it is - but today I can't seem to concentrate. There are reports I'm supposed to be writing, other reports I'm meant to be reading, and about a hundred bits of paper waiting to jump out at me as soon as I've finished all that. Instead I'm spending my time trying to create the longest paperclip chain in history. It requires vast concentration and talent and I . . . who am I kidding? This is just another in a long line of distractions today.

Y'see, the problem is that every time I try to write one of my damned reports my mind goes AWOL. I stare at the nice white page in front of me and instead I see . . . blue eyes. Stubborn chin. Delicious pout. I try to read one of the memos that I'm sure I should be doing something about . . . and *his* soft voice is reading them in my head. And before I know it I'm lost in memories of him and I can't stop.

So my paperclip chain is a form of self-defence.

I thought I had this beaten. After that moment of insanity (his words, not mine) on Klorel's ship we managed to go back to being friends. Good friends - the best of friends. Yet again Daniel was right - we're both straight and we just confused friendship with love. Nothing could be simpler.

OK, so we've had a few rough patches. And yeah, most of them have been caused by me - although he can throw a hissy fit with the best of them - but we're getting back. Slowly, steadily, we've rebuilt and worked things out. I hate to admit it, but I need a best friend like him - one who isn't afraid to tell me that he's pissed off as hell when I stuff up. Which is, apparently, a talent of mine. We're a team and, apart from that brief moment when we were almost something more, we're friends.

It's worked for years. So maybe I have the occasional dream, or the odd fantasy - no harm in that is there? I'm still straight. Daniel's still a guy. Therefore whatever I'm feeling is just my imagination. Nothing to worry about, no siree.

I can rationalise anything, if I try hard enough. It doesn't, technically, qualify as freaking out in any way. It's rationalisation. So there.

And it's just occurred to me that I've spent the past ten minutes thinking about Daniel. Again! Even the frigging paperclip chain isn't enough to distract me. I carefully fold up the six-foot long chain, making a mental note to stop by Supply later and get some more paperclips, before turning back to my computer and staring at it. I've written six words in an hour and a half. Even I can't claim to type that slowly. I crack my knuckles and force my mind to empty of everything but the mission I'm trying to write a report on.

After a couple of minutes I start to relax. It's going pretty well. I've actually got a couple of paragraphs down. The report starts to flow nicely as I get into the swing of it, tapping away as fast as my fingers can manage. This is what I'm good at - Jack's gone away and the Colonel has taken over as I try to explain what happened on yesterday's mission and how I didn't notice Tyler was an alien.

It's all going very well until I reach the part where Daniel arrives. Daniel in that bandanna. God, he has no idea. If he did have an idea of what the sight of him in that damned bandanna does to me he'd probably burn it.

I bite my lip and try to think of something else as my blood begins to rush steadily south.

Ice.

Cold showers.

Colonel Maybourne.

General Hammond.

Daniel in the - ice! Cold showers!!

Daniel in the cold shower . . .

A hundred Jaffa with staff weapons.

Hmm, that works for a moment.

Daniel in the bandanna running to . . . Daniel in only the bandanna . . . me touching - brain, would you quit it already? This is not helping!

A knock at the door pulls me back from my downward spiral.

"Come in," I call, hoping to God that it isn't Daniel. That's the last thing I need right now. I'd probably jump him the moment he walked in the door.

Instead it's Carter, looking slightly wary and hesitant. I think things are settling down after our "confusion" last year but sometimes it's a little awkward.

My life is one endless line of "confusions". What happened to the simple life of getting laid without worrying about whether you'd just caught a fun, new intergalactic STD? Maybe that's what I need - a good, old-fashioned roll in the hay to get rid of all this tension. But the thought of trawling the bars . . . no, all I'd see is *those* blue eyes and I'd feel like I was being unfaithful. To someone I've never had! God, I'm too old for this.

"Sir? Can I talk to you?" Carter asks.

I nod and gesture to a chair.

"Can I ask you something strictly off the record?"

"Would it make any difference if I said no?" I ask sourly. That phrase always comes before a conversation I'm going to hate.

She shrugs, not at all intimidated. "Not really, sir. I'd just get Teal'c to talk to you."

Thanks, Carter. Knew I could count on you to find a way around the regs and say whatever you want.

"Go on."

"Thank you sir."

She hesitates. Uh-oh. Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?

"It's about Daniel." Yup, knew I wasn't going to like this. "Sir, I'm worried about him."

I sit up a little straighter. "You are? Why?"

"Do you remember when his last holiday was?"

Er, come to think of it - no. I shake my head.

"Neither can I. SG-1 has had downtime but he's been kept here on base. He's looking tired even though he insists he's fine. Janet's worried that he's losing weight. Sir, most of the base it worrying about him. Out of all of us, he's been through the most but he's had the least recuperation time." Carter frowns. "He's shutting himself away from all of us and it's not good for him."

"The whole base?"

"He's made a lot of friends - more than he realises."

"Ah." I weigh it up in my mind. I've been watching Daniel too, and Carter's words have just confirmed what I thought - he needs a rest. And as his sort-of C.O. and best friend it's my duty to make sure he takes one.

"I'll talk to General Hammond," I suggest, and Carter's face shows her relief.

"Thank you, sir."

I shrug. "Just doing my job, Major."

"It's more than that, and we both know it," she says with a grin.

Uh . . . er . . . yeah. What she said. Huh?

"If we don't worry about him, who will?" she clarifies. "Not him. Daniel would probably work himself into a coma if he could."

"Says the woman who works out the decay rate of naquadah for fun," I say with a grin.

"Point taken, sir." Is Carter actually blushing? My imagination must be running overtime today. "I'll leave you to your . . . reports."

The suspicion she puts into that final word hints that she might have seen me with my paperclip chain. Thank god for chain of command - Daniel or Teal'c would have called me on it but Carter can't. Not that it stops her, sometimes, but usually she at least pretends to respect my command.

"I'll talk to the General."

She flashes a quick grin and leaves.

Here's the deal, brain - let me finish this report and then I'll go down to Hammond and sound him out about letting Daniel have some leave. Sound fair? Jeez, I really am losing my mind. I'm making deals with my, admittedly one track, brain to get some peace. Looks like Daniel's not the only one in need of a holiday.

Pushing all thoughts of Daniel, bandannas and sex out of my mind, I knuckle down and finish writing my mission report.

***

The mission report in my hand is a reassuring excuse as I knock on Hammond's door. Not that I need an excuse, uh-uh, I just want to make sure I've got a reason for being here. Should any curious archaeologists wander past. Crap, now paranoia has decided to join the party.

At the general's summons I enter the room and hand him the report

"Colonel O'Neill, just the man I wanted to see," Hammond says.

"Always at your service, sir."

The general looks down at a pile of papers on the desk in front of him before looking back at me. Uh-oh, this can't be good.

"It has been brought to my attention that Dr. Jackson hasn't taken any personal leave for some time. In fact, looking at the records, it's been over a year since he took any time that wasn't medical or compassionate leave." Hammond pauses and checks one of his pieces of paper. "He worked through SG-1's last stand-down time and prior to that his time was cut short due to a crisis here."

"Funny you should mention it, sir. I've just had Carter bending my ear about it. A lot of people are apparently concerned about him."

"I know." Hammond riffles through the pile of papers. "There are letters and reports here from half the base. Dr Fraiser is threatening to put him on medical leave if he doesn't take a break."

He must be exaggerating. Daniel hasn't . . . I eye that pile of papers and wonder why nobody sent me any of them. So far Carter's the only one to have approached me.

"You could try to put him on stand-down," I say doubtfully, "but you know Daniel. He'll just stay at home and work rather than doing it here. And he'll probably find a clueless recruit to smuggle books out for him."

"Which is why I'm sending you to London."

I'm confused. Admittedly that's easily done some days, but really - what does London have to do with Daniel's leave?

"There's an archaeological conference there next week. Mostly the fringe element, with a few potential financial backers. The Pentagon has suggested that we send someone along to keep an ear out for any potential security problems. All he'd have to do is keep a low profile and listen out for any theories or planned digs that might cause us problems."

"Sir, you know what happens when we send him on these kinds of missions."

"Which is why I'm sending you along as back-up. I've got dispensation to send you in armed - just in case - but please don't shoot the natives. I'm afraid this will mean you have to spend a week in lectures and seminars so try to stay awake."

Joy. Sounds thrilling.

"And this will help Daniel?" I ask. "Sounds like more work to me. Sir."

Hammond watches me patiently. "When you get back you'll both be on leave for another week. You will have spent a week accompanying Dr Jackson around an archaeological conference *without complaining* so . . ."

"If I were to, say, invite him on a fishing trip he'd feel guilty and indulge me," I finish, light finally dawning. That's downright . . . sneaky. Never thought he had it in him.

"Exactly." Hammond nods, beaming at me proudly.

"Thank you, sir." I pause. "What about the rest of my team?"

"They'll be on leave as well. Teal'c has requested time to see his son and Jacob Carter will be arriving in a few days for a visit. Goa'uld permitting, the whole of SC-1 will have two weeks of downtime." Hammond hands me an envelope. "Your travel plans. The local base will expect you to call from the hotel when you arrive, and I want you to call in your report here twice daily, but otherwise I trust you to use your discretion. I'll let you tell your team the good news."

"Thank you, sir."

Just as I'm about at the door, ready to leave, Hammond adds, "Colonel?"

"Sir?"

"I'm sure there will be time for Dr Jackson to do some sightseeing. And Dr Fraiser is concerned about his weight."

He pointedly picks up my mission report and starts reading it, so I know that I'm dismissed. Those weren't exactly orders, but there's no doubt in my mind that this conference is just an underhanded way of making our archaeologist take a holiday. Daniel has the general wrapped around his little finger, and he doesn't even know it.

Suits me fine. I'm now under instructions to keep a low profile (meaning no stress and keep Daniel away from anyone that might want to cause a scene - suits me), take him sightseeing in London, feed him at any and all opportunities and follow it up with a week of relaxation somewhere far, far away from the SGC. Sweet.

***

Carter and Teal'c seem pleased with the arrangements. Carter had this weird grin and Teal'c did his eyebrow thing when I told them what the General did for Daniel. Guess they're happy that someone's going to be around to force our stubborn archaeologist to rest.

So now I just have to tell the stubborn archaeologist in question about it, which is why I'm standing here in the doorway of his office. Not that I'm watching him. Uh-uh. Just because he's sprawled over his desk to work on something and I've coincidentally got a great view of his ass does not mean I'm watching him. No way. My heterosexual libido isn't so much fighting a rear-guard as putting up the white flag and waving cheerfully.

"Jack, either come in or go away," Daniel says without looking around. "Lurking there isn't helping my concentration."

Crap, busted. How did he do that? I didn't think he noticed anything when he's that deeply into something. Guess I'd better . . . hmm, if he just stretches a little bit more and-

"Jack!" He turns to face me, removing my rather nice view. "What is it?"

Er, uh . . . mental blank. I was supposed to be talking to him about something.

Now Daniel's looking worried. Guess he's not used me being speechless. "Jack, are you feeling all right?"

"Of course I am." Ah-ha, the brain has kicked in at last. "How do you feel about London?"

He blinks at me. "England? It's a little damp but it's got some good museums. What does it have to do with you lurking in my doorway?"

I decide to let that comment pass and hand him the envelope with our travel plans instead. "The Pentagon wants an expert to keep an ear out at some big archaeological thing there next week and you're our expert. We leave on Saturday."

Daniel rubs the bridge of his nose as though that will suddenly make it all clearer. "Jack - 'we'?"

"I've been assigned as your military back-up. Just in case . . ."

"The usual happens," he finishes for me.

"Yeah." I shift uncomfortably. It's not his fault that every time he gets sent on something like this people die or get made into Goa'uld hosts. Just bad luck. "We're under instructions to keep a low profile and not cause any trouble. Just listen and report if there's anything going on that we might want to keep a closer eye on."

He's giving me that look. The one that says "yeah, right, you can keep a low profile". He will, of course, deny any knowledge of being the one that always manages to find trouble no matter how hard we're *not* looking.

"So the Pentagon is paying for us to go to London."

"Right."

"To listen."

"Yup."

"And that's it."

"Yeah."

I think he may be onto us. Damn, it's tough to put anything past a guy as smart as Daniel.

"We've got a week of stand-down when we get back," I say casually, hoping he'll let it go. "I wondered if you wanted to go fishing. With me."

Why is he suddenly smiling that way? He looks like several Christmases have come at once. Not that I don't like him smiling - hell no, if I could figure out what was so great I'd do it again just to see his eyes light up like that. Is there some significance in fishing that I'm not aware of?

"Do you mean it?" he asks, still with that weird grin. Must be contagious today.

"Sure I do. I know a great cabin in Minnesota, beautiful lake with fish this big." I demonstrate. "I figured I'll fish and you can read, or something. Kick back, relax. That kind of thing."

Daniel considers it for a moment. "Ok."

"It's got cable and I know there's . . . ok?" He's agreed a lot easier that I thought he would. I had about another five minutes of arguments worked out.

"Yes, ok. I'll come fishing with you, Jack. Or something."

"Well . . . good. Glad that's settled."

Daniel ducks his head and suddenly remembers the envelope in his hand. I really wish I knew why he's suddenly looking so happy.

"First class?" he asks, holding out some plane tickets.

"What?" I take them. Sure enough - we're flying first class. "Guess the Pentagon figured that arriving on an Air Force carrier might defeat that 'keep a low profile' instruction. Not that I'm going to argue - in-flight movies beat jarheads for company any day."

"Mm." Daniel is distracted, staring at something that looks like two security passes. "Walter Godefroot?"

"Walter who?"

"Godefroot."

He hands me the passes and I check them out carefully. "At least you got to stay a Doctor. I've been demoted. Although . . ."

"Although what?"

I shrug, not even bothering to hide my grin. "Walter."

Daniel sighs. "Laugh it up . . . Captain John Walton."

I can see a lot of "Waltons" jokes in my future. Where did they find those names?

***

Daniel

I think I'm in trouble. Actually, I know I'm in trouble. I've just spent most of our flight asleep . . . with my head on Jack's shoulder. He isn't saying it, but I think there might have been snuggling.

All I know is that I woke up with my head on his shoulder, my nose buried in his neck and surrounded by the smell of pure Jack. One of the stewardesses keeps giving us an "aww, aren't they sweet" look. So it must have looked bad.

This is just going to make the next week much more difficult. Jack may have been able to put what happened on Klorel's ship - and my office afterwards - behind him but I never have. The worst part is knowing it was me that put a stop to it.

Sometimes I catch him looking at me and for a moment I wonder . . . but then he sees me and puts that oblivious grin on. I left it too late. He's back in the world of best friends while I'm still stuck in the feelings I had four years ago. If I could forget it - forget kissing him - it would be so much easier. My fantasies would certainly be a lot less vivid.

Unfortunately my body has reacted to the wake-up call very emphatically. I'll have to do one of the calming meditations Teal'c showed me before we get off this plane or Jack's going to have more than a few questions.

"Danny? You ok there?"

Does he know? "Yeah, Jack, just embarrassed. I must have been more tired that I thought I was."

The seatbelt light blinks on so he abandons that train of thought in favour of fussing over my safety during the landing. I end up slapping his wrists to stop him checking the belt - and it hasn't helped me to calm down at all. Is it possible to die from embarrassment? Because any minute now I'm going to be trying.

Concentrate. Relax. Empty the mind.

The next thing I know the plane is rolling to a stop at the gate and I'm waking up. Again. Looks like Teal'c's meditation worked a little too well.

"Daniel?"

I very slowly raise my head, again, and look at Jack apologetically - again. "Sorry about that."

"Don't sweat it. If you were tired enough to sleep on my bony old shoulder you must have needed the sleep." I'm sure he thinks his grin is reassuring - I think it's just sexy. "But you may want to try to staying awake for a while. At least until we get to the hotel."

"Yes. Right. I'll try to remember that."

Possibly I sounded sarcastic there. Maybe. He's a bad influence.

***

"Jack, when was the last time you drove a standard transmission?" I ask, holding out my hand for the car keys.

Jack looks at me and I'm sure he'd be glaring if he isn't trying so hard to be . . . nice. It's very disconcerting. He hasn't complained once about archaeology conferences. Something isn't adding up here. I have my suspicions - aided by everyone wishing me a good vacation as I left the SGC yesterday. They don't appear to have been told that I'm coming to London on official business.

"A while ago," he admits.

"How long ago is a while?"

"Twenty years?"

"Uh-huh." Not that I doubt how long ago it was - but I'm willing to put money on him only having driven that standard for around ten minutes. Or maybe less. We're still in the car park and he's already stalled the car five times. Somehow I don't think London is ready for this - for him - and I'm going to do my best to make sure we don't cause a diplomatic incident. This is supposed to be a low profile mission and Jack causing a pile-up on the North Circular because he can't find second gear would blow that right out of the water.

I waggle my hand a little. "Keys?"

Jack frowns.

"Look, we have two choices here." I stare at him calmly. "Either you can hand those keys over and I'll drive or . . ."

"Or?"

"We can stay here."

"Those are the only choices."

"Yes."

"Can't I just-"

"No." I cut him off before he even gets that far. I will not give him some 'warming up' time and I certainly will not give him a few pointers. Nobody can re-learn to drive on the M25. "Give me the keys."

He grumbles under his breath - I'm going to ignore the accusation of 'control freak' coming from Jack, of all people - and hands over the car keys. A quick change of seating and I'm in the driving seat, turning the key and smiling as the engine immediately comes to life. Mentally saying a prayer that I don't embarrass myself, I carefully put the car into first gear and pull away. I try, but I can't help the grin when I manage it without stalling. It's just that I've barely driven one of these since Abydos and after arguing with Jack about this it would have been a 'curl up and die' moment if I'd immediately stalled.

"I saw that," he says with relish.

"Saw what?"

"That. That little grin thing you did. You weren't sure you could drive this thing."

"I knew I could drive this."

"You didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

"Did."

"Didn't."

I successfully shift up to second and start to negotiate my way out of the airport. "Jack, do you have to turn everything into a juvenile argument?"

"Don't."

I wish I could glare at him right now. I really do. Instead I settle for saying, "You've just proved my point entirely."

"Haven't."

"You could always walk to the hotel."

"My, aren't we snarky today."

That doesn't even deserve an answer.

***

Jack

So far this plan is going well. I can already see the lines of tension dropping away from his face. And the look of delight when he saw his hotel room? Well, that was just priceless.

Hammond must have pulled some strings for this. We've got connecting rooms (probably on the assumption that it will make it easier for us to co-ordinate the operation) and I suspect the only way these things could get more luxurious is if we had the penthouse suite. Sweet.

Being a generous guy I've let Daniel have the larger room. He's got some couches and an antique desk in addition to his enormous bed and fancy TV. Hey, look, I've got an excuse to spend lots of time in his room - his TV is way bigger than mine. Lame? Me? Uh-uh.

And when he's on one of his midnight insomnia kicks, I'll be safely tucked up next-door and he can watch old movies through the night. I'm not completely stupid - we've stayed over at each other's houses before and I know his habits. His mind keeps going at times when most sane people are in comas.

Speaking of . . .

"Daniel?"

He pops his head around my door.

"Yes, Jack?"

"It's three thirty in morning. Don't you think you should be going to sleep now?"

"Well, technically for us it's-"

I hold up a hand. "Don't. Just don't. We have one day to adjust to jetlag before the conference starts and I'm not going to spend it arguing with you. Just come to - GO to bed now."

Daniel frowns at me. Damn, did he catch that? If he did, he's not showing it.

"I have to read-"

"You can read it tomorrow. We have all day. Go to bed."

Please don't do The Eyes. I always give in. Please . . .

"I guess you're right." He sighs sadly, although I don't believe him for one moment.

I beam at him. "Always. Now go."

He's already pulling his shirt off as he closes the door and I have to take a few deep breaths to calm down as my blood immediately roars south. This is going to be a long, long week.

***

So Daniel won't get to spend all day reading his damn notes - sue me. I'm letting him sleep in this morning until he wakes up. I even snuck in and turned off his alarm clock before it could go off. What man in his right mind sets the thing for seven AM when he's only gone to bed at four?

Right, forgot for a moment. This is Daniel, after all. He hates mornings more than anyone else I've even known but he hates to arrive at a meeting less than 110% prepared even more. Even if all he's doing is sitting in a stuffy hotel function room, listening to a bunch of guys talking about archaeology - a subject he probably knows more about than any of them.

It's going to be tough for him to just sit back and pretend not be Daniel Jackson. Shame Daniel Jackson is a name that's so infamous with his own peers. Walter Godefroot is nice and safe, no chance of causing a scene, but he's not Daniel. My Daniel knows so much about all that stuff, so much it's scary, but he's going to have to spend a week being clueless. Pretending to drag around a 'research assistant'. Lying and pretending he believes that Stonehenge was built according to ancient star-patterns. All to cover up his true genius.

So I'm going to be doing my best to distract him from that particular aspect of our mission and let him have a little fun. I don't think he's seen much of that lately.

Hmm, it's getting a little late. Almost shading towards afternoon here. Maybe it's time I gave him a little wake-up call after all. A quick phone call and I'm set.

I have just enough time to shower and dress before the guy arrives with the food I've ordered. Thank you, General Hammond, I'll just put it on the Pentagon's bill shall I? After all, a grumpy archaeologist is no good to anyone.

I pour two cups of steaming coffee and carefully nudge our connecting door open. For a moment it feels like something has just lodged painfully in my throat. Jeez, Danny, do you have to be so damned beautiful?

When he's asleep he looks so young. So carefree. Why can't he ever look like that when he's awake? He's lying on his side hugging one of the pillows with the quilt pulled up to his shoulders. Consciously, he's uncomfortable with touching but as soon as he's out he turns into a snuggler. Doesn't really seem to matter what it is - pillows, pack, me - he just reaches out and . . . snuggles. I still have photographic evidence of the time he accidentally snuggled Teal'c - and the photo of our usually stoic friend's expression can reduce Hammond to tears of laughter.

I've seen Daniel like this before but today . . . well, today I must just be losing it. Because it's as though I'm seeing him all over again. Maybe it's been too long since we spent time just doing nothing together. My fault, again, but I should have corrected it earlier.

If we had, maybe I wouldn't be standing in a hotel room in London watching him sleep and feeling like I've just been hit with a truck.

Ah, crap.

Now is not a good time for this. I'm meant to spend the next week practically living in Daniel's pocket and now I realise that I'm in love with him? That despite all the rationalisations and inner-debates, I've been in love with him since that day on Klorel's ship? Worse yet, I have a damned crush on him! Where is the justice?

O'Neill, you have now officially lost it.

This is worse than Klorel's ship - at least then I could talk myself out of it and believe Daniel's "insanity in moment of death-fearing stress" argument. Unless the hotel has dust bunnies with killer instincts I can't see that argument holding water.

Aw, crap. Just shoot me now.

A sigh from the bed interrupts my slightly panicky thoughts. I'll think about this later - right now I have coffee and there's archaeologist to wake up. This particular archaeologist is scrunching up his face as he tries to ignore the coffee smell and carry on sleeping, so I move closer.

"Nnnggh."

Daniel is not a morning person. He acts as though the sunlight is a personal insult, and if it's before 10am he's even been known to swear. In *English*.

"Snngglbmphhhh."

I'm easing slowly forward, letting the coffee smell do its work.

"Ugh."

He abruptly releases the pillow and rolls over to face me. Eyes still closed, but face scrunching up again in a way that says it'll only be another minute before he has to give in and find the damned coffee.

"Urck."

That's it, open your eyes.

"Daniel." I keep my voice low and steady, fearful of the wrath of pre-caffeine Daniel. I'm in lo-lust, not insane.

His eyes open and . . . I'm lost. Blue eyes. So bright, so damned happy - connecting to mine for a moment and joy shining out of them.

"Morning," I croak. Where did my voice go? Probably the same place my brain, blood and sanity went. And it all seems very happy to stay down there.

Daniel's eyes shift and focus on the coffee. Ah, there's the Daniel I'm more used to. "Coffee."

A hand stretches out to the cup in my hand. Oh, yeah, that's what I'm here for. I'm not here to ogle, lust or covet - I'm here to give him coffee and hope he doesn't kill me for letting him sleep away half the day.

"You have to sit up before you drink it. Otherwise you dribble." I hold the cup away from his reaching hand. "And this coffee is hot."

Daniel pouts and frowns. There's no other word for it - he actually pouts. He's the only man I know who can pout without looking like an idiot.

"Come on, sit up," I repeat. "No sitting, no coffee."

Reluctantly, he sits up and the quilt drops away to reveal a muscular, lightly tanned chest. Biceps. Oh, mama. Now I'm in deep trouble. It's a good thing he's taking the coffee away from me - my hands are suddenly shaking.

Just to give myself a moment to calm down I step away from the bed - the bed with a half-naked Daniel Jackson in, a fact my libido just has to keep pointing out - and take a sip of my own coffee.

A low hum of appreciation from the bed tells me that Daniel's starting to feel more human. As soon as the coffee hits his mouth he always looks happier. Unfortunately my libido takes that moan as a hint that it's time to haul out the white flag and admit that I'm not as straight as I've always told myself I was. Timing couldn't be better.

I have to get out of here right now.

"Lunch is . . . when you're ready."

I bolt for my room. I'm a coward of the highest order and right now I'm not ashamed to admit it.

***

Daniel

"Jack, if you don't turn that TV down right now I'll do it myself. With your gun."

Huh, that got him. I'm not sure which threat he's more afraid of - me stealing his gun, or me using it to permanently silence the television. Normally I don't promote violence but this afternoon I'm finding myself feeling unusually . . . well, violent.

Not only did he let me sleep most of the day away, now he's managed to find a hockey match and he's watching it at a volume that makes it impossible to hear anything else. And he's next door. I dread to think what the volume is like actually *in* his room. The hotel will throw us out if that goes on much longer. And how did he find a hockey game on a Sunday afternoon in England anyway?

Put that together with his weird behaviour all day and you've got an even more annoying and obnoxious Jack than normal. It's almost frightening.

He kept . . . looking at me over lunch. Well, I suppose it was originally breakfast but by the time we ate it was too late to even call it brunch. Whenever he thought I wasn't watching he kept looking at me as though he was trying to work out some huge puzzle that's got a piece missing.

All afternoon he's been in and out of this room with a hundred different excuses. He's driving me up the wall.

I've spent the afternoon stretched out on this sinfully comfortable sofa, balancing a laptop and a sheaf of notes on my stomach. Apart from Jack's over-zealous interruptions it's really been quite pleasant. I did most of my pre-conference research on Friday so mostly this is reading for pleasure, something I don't normally have time for. But I'm letting Jack think he's interrupting important work for our mission just so he'll leave me in peace for an hour or two.

Normally I'd welcome any and all opportunities to spend time with him, but not when he's being so un-Jackish. It's disconcerting and worrying. Hopefully he'll be back to normal tomorrow.

This "mission" shouldn't cause any problems. I've checked the listing and nobody here has ever met me so we shouldn't have any problems with my cover getting blown. Dr. Daniel Jackson hasn't been seen in academia for years. Dr. Walter Godefroot has some crackpot theories about the relation of Stonehenge and star-maps, and the retired USAF Captain he's dragging around is the amateur astronomer providing his "scientific" information.

Apparently I'm the honey in a trap - all the, er, wackos should gravitate towards me. If anyone's onto an idea that sounds suitably crazy - say, for example, that the pyramids were built by aliens or the Ballard Skull in the Smithsonian is a teleportation device - I can report back and we'll keep a watchful eye. Just to make sure we don't have a repeat of the Osiris problem.

"Daniel, are you hungry?"

Jack's back, and concerned for my welfare. Again.

"No."

Oops, maybe that would have sounded more effective if my stomach hadn't growled then.

"For crying out loud, do you always have to be so stubborn?"

"Do you have to be so annoying?"

He beams at me. "Just natural talent."

I shift slightly, and have to make a grab for the papers avalanching towards the floor. Jack is there in a moment, catching the laptop just before it makes its own graceful descent.

"Daniel, take a hint. And take a break. You can't expect to work all night, can you?"

I consider saying that yes, I can, but that would just be petty. I refuse to let my annoyance turn into pettiness. Not when I have Jack kneeling down next to me, staring at me again. What are you thinking, Jack?

"What did you have in mind?" I ask.

Is it possible to be scorched by a look? He just sort of . . . and there was heat and . . . Jack?

I'm getting a little warm here. Make that a lot. His eyes are practically burning me.

He's moving closer. So slowly, so damned slowly - it's barely enough to call it movement. More like a continental shift. Those hot, gentle brown eyes are holding mine and I can't get free. I don't want to get free. Why would I? He's so close I can smell his aftershave, familiar and reassuring, and his eyes . . .

The laptop makes another escape bid and it snaps Jack out of the trance he was in. I can see it go, all that heat suddenly pulled inside, and he's retreating back across the room. Damn, that wasn't what I wanted!

What do I want? And what does he want?

"Jack?"

"Sorry, cramp," he lies masterfully. If I hadn't been so close to him a moment ago I'd almost believe him. "You know London better than I do - where's good for food?"

"What did you want?"

There's that look again. Even all the way over here I can feel it burning my skin. This time, though, it's gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"Oh, I don't know." Jack's putting on a casual, 'don't mind me, I'm just jetlagged' act. "Pizza?"

"Pizza?"

"What? They don't do pizza in England?"

I sigh and stand, stretching just to see what the effect is. I need scientific proof of the sudden suspicion I have. There it is - that look again. This is going to require further thought, but later. Right now I have to admit that Jack may have a point - I'm starving and London has a lot of restaurants. Time to introduce them to Jack.

***

I tug at my collar, wishing it didn't feel quite so much like the tie is strangling me.

"Would you quit that?" Jack hisses at me. "It looks fine so keep your hands off it."

The meal last night was good, but a little confusing. As soon as we got out of the hotel the old Jack was back, teasing, bantering and generally being a pain. No strange looks, no unnerving attention. That alone confused me. It's like he turned into a split personality on the plane over here.

We ate, talked and had a little too much to drink before stumbling back to the hotel after midnight. It was like old times.

But now he's confusing me again. The conference was scheduled to begin with a reception - i.e. a short welcoming speech followed by tea and cakes at a time most reasonable people are still trying to work out how to turn on the coffee maker - and I'm meant to be circulating. Making contacts. For god's sake, I'm the archaeologist on this mission!

Why, then, is it Jack that everyone wants to meet? Not that I'm jealous - no, no, not me - I'm just . . . there it is again. Dr. Delia Simpson has her hand very close to a portion of Jack's anatomy that no archaeologist should be allowed to touch. Well, apart from me, obviously, but I can hardly tell him that. Can I?

If she would just take her hand off his ass I'd be fine.

Just start the damned conference, please? Of course, if mental pleas worked the world would be a different place.

Dr. Simpson is fluttering up at Jack, smiling and twittering like an enthusiastic canary. It's probably not her fault that in that yellow suit, with her hair a shade of blonde that's a genetic impossibility, she looks like she should be eating Trill rather than Swiss roll. And neither is it her fault that she's entirely oblivious to Jack's attempts not to laugh at her. But, as per our mission brief, he's listening to her theories and it's probably the first time in years that anyone's done that so she's lapping it up.

Poor Jack, I'm almost feeling sorry for him. He looks like he can't decide between laughing and running away.

I tug at my tie again - I'm sure it's getting tighter - and he shoots me a glare.

"Oh, dear, they're starting," Dr. Simpson says with a frown. "It's been *so* nice talking to you Captain Walton. You simply *must* join me for dinner so we can continue our *fascinating* conversation."

I grin. "Yes, John, you really must."

"Thanks. *Walter*."

The glare he shoots me is the one that's sent more than one green recruit running for the hills, convinced Colonel O'Neill is about to kill him. It's lost its effect over the years so I simply move away from him to find a seat. Dr. Simpson is almost quivering with excitement at being left alone with Jack.

***

Jack

I'm going to kill Daniel. Slowly and with a great deal of pleasure. He actually left me alone in a corner with Dr. Simpson, a woman who shouldn't be allowed out of a house without a muzzle and leash. If she puts her hand on my ass again I'll be high-tailing it out of here, Pentagon or no Pentagon.

"There's my Eric." Dr. Simpson waves coyly at short, pale man in his sixties. Poor guy. "I'd better go and make sure he gets us good seats. I *do* hope you find time in your schedule for dinner. I can't *tell* you how much fun this has been."

Yeah, sure, I'll be finding time - when hell freezes over. I lie through my teeth. "It's been a pleasure."

It takes a minute - the woman has arms like an octopus - but I manage to get away from her and take my seat next to Daniel.

"That was nasty," I complain. I am not whining, not at all.

He shoots me a mischievous glance, blue eyes shining, and I immediately forgive him. I'm a pushover.

"What's wrong, Ja-John? Weren't you having fun?"

He's fiddling with that tie again. "Of course I love being felt up by a woman who should come with a mental health warning. It just makes my day."

"Sorry."

No, he's not. The look on his face is anything but sorry.

Was he jealous? He's meant to be the archaeologist but so far we've had two bites on our hook, and both of them have been for me. Nothing for the Pentagon to be worried about, but still . . . it must smart that nobody's paying any attention to him.

Or maybe it doesn't. I can never tell with him. Daniel's the smartest guy I know but he doesn't seem to have an ego. He's quietly confident, he knows he's right, but it's never in your face. And even when he's in full 'told you so' mode, that ego just doesn't appear. Another of the mysteries of Dr. Jackson.

The conference is in the hotel and we've packed out a function room. It's got a nice stage at one end and we're all seated on padded chairs, ready and waiting to be lectured on rocks. It's a little friendlier than the dusty lecture hall I was imagining when Hammond suggested this mission, but I'm still incredibly aware that my IQ is the lowest in the room. What would a bright guy like Daniel see in a guy like me? I know he saw something in me all those years ago, but he also stopped anything before it even began because he had time to think about it.

Maybe I should have just kept kissing him until he forgot how to speak?

Nah, I could never do that. All the times I've told him to shut up over the past year have taught me one thing - it's defeating in the end. My selfish actions almost squashed that passion he gets when he's talking about something he's deeply interested in. I got to see that passion again at dinner last night and I realised that I missed it. Missed him.

I had to work hard to keep the goofy grin off my face. Damn crush.

There's polite clapping around the room and I realise that the opening address has already finished. Cool.

"What now?"

Daniel shoots me an exasperated frown. "If you'd listened, you'd know that we're moving straight into Professor Trelawny's lecture on the palace at Knossos. The program's been slightly altered due to the late start."

"Ah."

"The, uh, people we're interested in didn't always impersonate Egyptian gods. Chronos was from Greek mythology after all."

"Thank you, I'd almost forgotten." Not. "Think we'll pick up anything here?"

He shrugs and I lose his attention as the Professor steps onto the stage and clears his throat.

***

"So, find anything we might need to discuss with Hammond?" I ask as we finally retreat to our rooms.

To be more precise, it's Daniel's room and I'm sprawled on his couch while he finally gets rid of that tie. He's got those tiny lines on his forehead that mean he's getting a headache and any minute now he'll be reaching for the aspirin.

"Well, not really. That dig in Sicily might be worth keeping an eye on, but I don't think the Professor will find anything."

"Oh?"

Daniel gives up on the tie, settling for loosening it enough to slip over his head. "He's just re-working an old site. If there was any Goa'uld technology there it would have been found years ago."

"Good. So I'll let Hammond know that all's quiet over here."

"Go ahead. I'll just, uh . . ."

He's pulling off his jacket and looking significantly at his bathroom. Right. I should move then. Just going. Promise. Just . . . this couch really is very comfortable. Don't mind me, Daniel, I'll just . . .

"Jack?"

"Daniel?"

"Was there anything else?"

Reluctantly I heave myself out of the comfortable embrace of that couch. I guess I should get out of the suit as well if I'm going to relax this evening. "Nah, nothing that can't wait."

"Ok, good."

He's starting to unbutton his shirt and I . . . if I don't leave now I'm going to embarrass myself.

***

Daniel

Ah, bliss . . . there's nothing like a bath for getting rid of headaches. Shame we can't get them installed on the base. Sam would probably back me up here.

My scientific research into the reasons behind Jack's sudden odd behaviour is starting to pay off. So far, I've established that he gives me the intense looks when we're in close proximity or I say something that could, possibly, if I were anyone else, be taken as flirting. Of course, I had to try that out a couple of times today and it worked perfectly. Hmm.

There's another look that I've noticed as well. It's a sort of goofy grin whenever he thinks I'm not looking, particularly when I'm doing something I'm sure he thinks is 'cute'.

I needed one more piece of evidence, hence my near strip tease a few minutes ago. Yes, I needed a bath but it wasn't *that* urgent. The look he gave me that time, when I started unbuttoning my shirt, said he couldn't decide between throwing me down and doing all sorts of interesting things to me, or running away. Sadly, he chose the second option.

So I've collected evidence and it's confirmed my initial hypothesis.

Time to start putting it all into some kind of order.

Hypothesis - Jack may possibly be . . . um, in love with me?

Evidence 1 - Jack, for some unknown reason, has decided to mess with my head. He's not doing it deliberately - he'd never do something like this deliberately - but he's definitely messing.

Evidence 2 - Jack, again for an unknown reason, is giving evidence of being attracted to me. I know he was three years ago, but I thought that was just a passing thing and it . . . passed.

Evidence 3 - Jack is my best friend, I've died for him and I know he'd die for me. We finish each other's sentences and we usually don't have to say anything to know what's going on in each other's heads.

Conclusion - either Jack is, uh, in love with me or he's doing a very good impression of it.

Oh, my, I think I need to sit down. Good thing I'm in the bath then. Otherwise I'd be suddenly sitting down in the shower and getting bruises on my ass right where I don't need bruises. Some of my best thinking gets done in the bath for exactly this reason.

Now that I have this much worked out, what am I going to do about it? Somehow, when I was doing my mission prep last week I didn't read up on seducing hard-ass Air Force colonels. Isn't that odd?

Obviously there are two potential choices. I can ignore it - difficult as it would be when Jack gives me that 'I want to kiss you and lick you until you scream' look and I love him so much it's quite insane - and wait for it to go away. Or I can act on this with the associated risk of looking like an idiot if I'm wrong and ruining a friendship I've come to count on more than anything else in my life.

Tough choices.

If I act on it, what would I do? I've never seduced anyone, much less a man. I've always been the seduced, not the seducer. Sarah, Sha're . . . they practically had to hit me on the head and remove all my books before I realised what they wanted. I'm a little short on practice.

I'm starting to regret not taking advantage of the college experience while it was there. I would have had a little more experience of this if I had. But there were so many books . . . so much to learn . . .

Maybe I should try to make Jack seduce me. That could work. I'll have to let him think it was all his own idea, of course, with me an enthusiastic participant. I can tell him about it afterwards. The important part is to get past whatever that block he's got is - the one that's sent him running across the room so many times since we arrived in London that, if I hadn't seen those looks, I'd start to worry about my body odour.

So, I now have evidence, conclusions and an action plan of sorts. I don't have the mechanics of the action plan worked out yet but I'm sure I'll think of something. Fly by the seat of my pants, so to speak.

There's no time like the present - my bath's starting to get cold and I'm hungry. Time to put Operation O'Neill into action.

I'm still towelling my hair dry when I knock on Jack's door, although at least I'm decently dressed. That doesn't seem to matter because the moment he opens the door there's that look again. I'm surprised my hair doesn't start steaming.

But as quickly as it appeared it's gone again, and he's putting on that shit-eating grin of his.

"Daniel. I see you didn't drown after all."

I grin at him. Run, Jack, as fast as you can. I'm still here. "No, I didn't. I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat."

"I thought you'd have notes and . . . stuff to read."

"No, I'm all yours."

Gotcha!

He swallows and valiantly tries to ignore that comment. "That's great. Daniel. Know any good steak places around here?"

"I was thinking that we could try something a little different. There are restaurants here with foods from all over the world so doesn't it seem a little narrow-minded to stick with what you're used to?"

"Well, I-"

I beam at him cheerfully. "Great. I'll just find some shoes and then we can get going."

As soon as I mention the shoes he looks down to my feet and . . . goofy grin. Kind of smouldering too - I didn't know that was possible. My feet turn Jack on? I wriggle my toes, just a tiny bit, and he practically has his tongue hanging out. Definitely feeling heat here.

This may be easier than I thought it would be if this is the response a couple of perfectly innocent remarks and bare feet get me.

***

Jack

Daniel is officially driving me out of my mind.

I'll grant you, he's done that to me a lot over the past few years but this time it's different. If I didn't know him better I'd swear it was deliberate. It's bad enough that I'm in love with him, bad enough I have a damned crush on him - but now my imagination is insisting he's flirting. With me, for crying out loud!

Over the past two days I've been subjected to more 'innocent' remarks than any man can take. I'm almost positive he isn't aware of it.

I'd wish this conference would end faster if it weren't for the fact that I'll then have to spend a week in an isolated cabin with him. Alone. I can't take that.

So far this trip has been a bust. We've sat through three days of lectures, made small talk with a host of wacko archaeologists including The Canary and come up with exactly nothing. The Pentagon has been getting their briefs in a twist over nothing. Even Daniel is getting bored, and I thought he didn't have a boredom threshold. Mind, we've heard so many whacked-out theories over the past three days that I'm starting to have serious doubts about the sanity of any archaeologists.

Daniel, of course, being the exception that proves the rule.

The only problem is that . . . Daniel is the exception. Before the Stargate project his theories were considered just as nutty - hell, they still are to anyone outside the SGC. The Pentagon feels that if there's even a slim chance that any of these guys are onto something we should be keeping an eye on them. The 'respectable' end of the profession is easy to watch - they write so many damned papers we have trouble keeping up - but this end just can't do that. Apart from the populist crap that ends up on the best-sellers lists and makes Daniel see red, there's not much for us to keep an eye on.

Daniel is wincing. Uh-oh, not a good sign. Whatever the guy on the stage is saying is so out of field it isn't even in this galaxy. That's another bust and he'll be ranting about it later.

This one has been illustrating his lecture with some, er, fascinating slides of rocks. To be honest I haven't paid much attention. He pretty much lost me when he started talking about stratigraphy.

The screen flickers to another slide and Daniel stiffens. I risk a quick glance at him. It's his 'shit' look so I take another look at the slide. I don't recognise it but then that's not my job. It looks like an ornate beetle with gold decoration down one side. Hello, that looks sort of familiar.

"Daniel, is that . . ."

"Goa'uld? Yeah." He's frowning. "It's not clear enough to read but it's definitely Goa'uld."

"Aw, hell. And here I was starting to relax."

His eyes don't move from the screen. "I've never seen a device like that before though. Do you mind if I talk to him, alone, later? I need to find out where he found it."

"Dan-iel." If I sound worried and possessive it's because I am. So sue me. "Are you-"

Finally he looks at me, and he's as calm and certain as he always is when he's doing something he knows I'm going to hate. "Jack, what is he going to do to me in a hotel filled with people? I don't need a chaperone. This is something I can manage perfectly well on my own."

I have to admit, the guy on the stage doesn't look like he could hurt a fruit fly. He's in his sixties, shorter than Fraiser, and he'd probably get blown away in a strong wind.

"Just don't take any risks."

"I'll be careful."

***

He's been gone for hours. Actually, technically, it's only been one hour but that's still an hour too long. All he had to do was find out where the wacky professor got his neat Goa'uld toy and then come back to our rooms so we can update General Hammond. That doesn't take an hour, does it?

I think I'm going to wear a hole in this carpet if I keep pacing but I can't stop myself. Every time I sit down I can't stay still and I end up on my feet again. Images of Daniel's battered, bruised body flood my mind each time I try to calm down and I know I'm working myself into a panic but I can't help it. He should be back by now.

Is it too early to go hunting for him? Trouble is, if I go out looking for him I might miss him when he gets back here.

A sound at the door, his door, and I'm across the room flinging the door open before my brain issues the instructions.

Daniel stands there blinking up at me. "Jack?"

"Where the hell have you been?"

Grudgingly I step back to allow him into the room and he carefully, precisely, closes the door before turning back to me. "I was talking to Professor Stevens about his amulet. You know that."

"It took you an hour?"

He takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I think it did. He wanted me to join his research team."

"And?"

"And I turned him down."

"That's not what I meant."

"Ah." He's looking serious. "Jack, he wouldn't tell me where he got it. There are still a lot of artefacts floating around that were found years ago, when archaeologists were little more than glorified grave robbers, and never given to museums. We've never been able to track some of them down."

"Great." I sigh. "There's something else, isn't there?"

"He . . . uh, he thinks the amulet is part of a larger item. That's why he wanted me to join his research team - he thinks I know what it is."

"Do you?"

He shakes his head. "No. He won't give me a photograph and I didn't see enough of the writing to be able to translate."

"Did he tell you where he's keeping it?"

"He's got a lab in Switzerland."

I nod. "I'll tell General Hammond. I don't like the idea of anyone having a Goa'uld toy, even just part of it, lying around in a lab."

Daniel gives me a relieved look and I see the tension slowly running out of him. I guess that thing freaked him more than he was letting on.

"If it helps, I managed to get a business card," he tells me, holding out the slip of card. "He was . . . insistent about my joining him."

"Too bad. You've got a job."

At last there's a real smile. "I know. And I've just been doing it."

"So now it's my turn to do mine." I begin to move towards my room. "Hammond is going to love this."

***

"Did you get through to General Hammond?" Daniel asks a while later, popping his head through our connecting door.

My tongue immediately sticks to the roof of my mouth. His hair is still damp from a shower, his shirt isn't buttoned and he's making with the bare feet again. Give me strength - do you have to walk around like that?

"Wha-?" is my, oh so intelligent, response.

Daniel takes that as an invitation and steps into the room, moving to stand right next to where I'm propped up on the bed. I can almost feel the heat coming off him. "General Hammond. Did you talk to him?"

Oh, yeah, that.

"He's making arrangements," I tell him. "Someone's going to be taking up the professor's offer of a research assistant, but it won't be you."

"They'll need to get that amulet away from him before he starts analysing it."

"I know."

Something is going on in that head of his, and I'm willing to bet it has nothing to with the professor or his amulet. Daniel's looking at me with this curious expression, the one he normally gets when he's found a new rock and doesn't quite to know what it is yet. Weird.

"What did you want to do tonight?" I ask him, trying to work out what that look in his eyes means. "I think I saw a Thai restaurant down the road."

There's a tiny flicker of annoyance - frustration? - in Daniel's eyes but it's gone so fast I must have imagined it.

"We could eat here," he suggests.

"Or we could eat here," I agree. "I'll just get my shoes."

"Why?"

I look down at my sock-clad feet. I look back at Daniel and raise an eyebrow in a way that would make Teal'c proud.

"Because, Daniel, I think the hotel restaurant has a dress-code and shoes are part of it."

There is definitely something going on here. He's irritated with me. Whatever I've done - and I'll admit, I have a talent for getting on people's nerves that I've worked hard at so it could be anything - is annoying him but he's trying not to let on. In fact, it's annoyed him so much that he's gone back to his room and left me sitting here. This has gone beyond weird into downright worrying.

Obviously we have to talk. I have no idea what we have to talk about, and it's probably going to be one of those conversations I hate, but we have to talk. I call down to room service and order some food - if we're going to talk we may as well eat at the same time and I don't think this is a conversation I want the entire world listening to. When Daniel vents, he tends to do so loudly and with gesturing. Not something that works well in a restaurant.

***

Daniel

Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this? I've done everything but throw myself at Jack and he still isn't taking the hint. Maybe that's the problem - I've been too subtle. He won't seduce me because he doesn't know I *want* to be seduced. Problem is, I don't know how to tell him I want to be seduced without . . . uh, telling him.

I have no idea how to make the first move on him. The last time it was a near-death thing and he made the first move. In my office he made the move while I tried to run away. Me actually making a move wasn't part of it at any time, apart from me making the move towards stopping.

Maybe that's it. Could he be holding back because I was the one that stopped us last time?

I flop down onto the sofa. That has to be it. It's the only explanation. Jack hasn't stopped giving me the 'I want to kiss you all over' looks, or the goofy grins - if anything they've got worse - but he keeps remembering me telling him to stop.

Worse yet, he's probably remembering the lecture I gave him at the time. I meant every word if it. Then. If we had done anything then I know we'd have regretted it. But now it's different. And if he doesn't do something soon I may have to . . . to . . .

That's precisely why *he* has to make the move. I don't know what the move should be!

"Daniel?"

Jack's voice pulls me out of my spiralling depression and I can't help smiling up at him. His worried expression immediately clears and he lopes over to my couch.

"Mind if I . . ?"

I shake my head, gesturing to the chair opposite me. "No, go ahead."

Surprisingly, he elects to sit on the couch next to me. This has promise.

"What have I done?" he asks, picking up a cushion and beginning a minute examination of the fabric.

"Nothing." Well, it's the truth. He's done nothing and that's the entire problem.

"Oh." The cushion must be fascinating. "So if I've done nothing, what's wrong?"

I've found a cushion of my own to study. "Nothing. Nothing at all is wrong."

"Ah."

Our mutual cushion studying continues.

"So . . ." he begins, just as there's a knock at the door. "That'll be the food."

Jack throws down the cushion and practically runs across the room to pull the poor room-service guy in. He's looking a little startled to have a large Air Force colonel helping him push the trolley. I'm fairly certain Jack didn't intend to tip the guy so much either, but he seems strangely nervous right now.

"Here." Jack returns to the couch, holding out a plate. "Thought you were hungry."

I smile up at him. "Thanks."

For a while we eat in silence until Jack gives into temptation and turns on the TV. How does he manage to find hockey in England in the summer? I stab at the fries he ordered with my steak and stretch out my legs. I'm not frustrated, I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

I wiggle my toes.

Just getting comfortable, nothing to see here.

I risk a tiny glance at Jack from the corner of my eyes - my feet have his full attention. I try for a little more toe-wiggling. It's working!

I have to work hard not to let a triumphant grin cross my face and try to keep my expression neutral.

This time I try shifting my legs, just a tiny bit, and now his eyes are running up them. Slowly, and with that incredible fiery expression again. This is interesting.

What now? Jackson, now is not the time to panic. Think of something!

While I'm thinking I absently tap my fork against my lip. There's a strangled squawk next to me and I turn to look at Jack. His face is sort of pink, he's staring at my lips and that look in his eyes should be burning me up where I sit. Wow, I didn't even realise *that* would work.

"Are you all right Jack?" I ask innocently.

He nods desperately. Either he's going to bolt now or do something - and goddamn it, I want him to do something!

I nervously lick my lips as I try to think of my next move.

Jack very slowly takes my plate away, stacks it with his on the coffee table in front of us and turns off the TV before reaching out and pulling me to him. At last.

He crushes his lips to mine, sending a bolt of heat straight through my body to my groin. And, just to make sure he knows I entirely approve of this idea, I grip his shoulders and pull him closer.

I feel his tongue licking my lips and happily open up to allow him in. My higher brain functions have shut down and all I can do is feel. His tongue in my mouth, tasting, teasing, stroking mine and . . . oh yeah, this is good. I return everything he's giving, and his gasp is thoroughly intoxicating. I think he even moaned.

Fire inside . . . pleasure sparking . . . have to touch him. Buttons - get out of my way! - skin, so warm, tiny hairs covering and providing delicious friction. Getting dizzy . . . oh, yeah, breathing. That would be good too.

Did I say he could stop kissing just because we need to breathe? Ooooh, neck. Nice. Just don't ever stop.

Maybe I should return the favour?

His skin tastes almost as good as his mouth and I breathe in his scent as I nibble and lick at the junction between his neck and his shoulder. Jack's shudder is incredibly gratifying. I nudge his collar away with my nose - much better. More skin to kiss and I want to touch it all and never stop.

I shudder as his lips on my neck do something that feels so good is has to be illegal. If I'd known it would be this good, I'd have kissed him months ago.

Hands under my shirt, touching my skin and I'm about to burn up. Is that my voice?

Damn, it must have been. Jack's pulling back, untangling us and looking at me with so much regret it makes my head hurt.

"Jack?"

Did I do something wrong? He looks . . . afraid.

"Shit, Danny, I'm so sorry," he begins to apologise.

"Why?" I'm calm, I'm calm, I'm . . . I'm terrified he's about to run away. He's sitting beside me, shirt unbuttoned and so aroused he's probably having trouble thinking about anything else - I know I am - but he's starting to withdraw from me. This time it's me who doesn't want to stop and he's trying to be the rational one. God help us.

"Because . . . because . . ."

If this weren't so serious, I'd laugh. Jack at a loss for words - now that's not something you see every day.

But it is serious because if I handle this wrong it will ruin everything. And there is no way in hell that I'm going to lose Jack, particularly when if he'd just stop and think for a moment he'd realise that I want this as much as he does.

I know what almost made me give in last time, and I just hope it works on him too because this time all the arguments in the world can't overwhelm this one fact.

"Jack, I love you."

He does a masterful beached fish impression for a moment before gasping, "You do?"

I nod, smiling at him. "Yeah."

"But . . . but back then . . ."

"And I was right. Then. But things have changed and we've changed."

I can see him working things out in his mind. Thoughts are flickering through his eyes too fast for me to follow.

"What about 'we're confused?' And the never to be forgotten 'women-only track record'?"

"Well, I'm not confused now." No, not at all - I've never been more certain of anything in my life. I love Jack. Always have, always will. "And embarrassing as it is to admit it to anyone, my track-record has so far either been me under the influence of something, or someone else making the pass. I've never been the one to actually initiate something. It usually just . . . doesn't occur to me. But it's occurred to me around you - isn't that odd?"

"Oh."

Chew on that for a while. Confessing my complete lack of experience to a man like you is terrifying and embarrassing. But is it working?

"Guess you actually used that college time for something stupid like learning, huh?"

If Jack can joke, even badly, he must be making progress.

"Well, there was so much to learn and-"

"Daniel, Daniel, what am I going to do with you?" he sighs.

"I can think of a few things."

He gives me a surprised look and I try to smile seductively. It only lasts for a moment - I have no idea what I look like and I keep imagining that I'm turning into one of those terrible cads on the old black and white movies - before I start to laugh. It feels really good to laugh and Jack joins in after a moment. We're laughing hysterically, leaning against each other because we've lost the ability to prop ourselves up, and I have no idea what's so damned funny.

"This shouldn't be funny," Jack eventually protests, although the tremors in his voice come from suppressed laughter rather than anything else. "This is meaning of life stuff."

"I thought you didn't do feelings?"

He shrugs. "You're different. Mostly. You do feelings so I have to keep up."

"Oh."

"Sometimes I wonder which of us is rubbing off on whom."

I grin widely at him. "Rubbing's good."

Hmm, I think I just managed to shock Jack. He's gone pink.

"D-Daniel!"

"What?"

"I'm trying to be deep and insightful, and all you can do is make suggestive comments!"

"Ja-ack."

He glares at me. "This deep and meaningful stuff is hard enough without you doing that. Or that!"

My hand is pulled away from its nice perch on his thigh, but then he forgets to remove his hand from mine and starts to absently stroke my wrist with his thumb.

"Daniel, this is a once in a life-time opportunity to hear me confess my deepest feelings so listen up." He takes a deep breath. "I love you. When I look at my future, you're always there. I don't know how to cope without you. I can be an annoying, selfish, arrogant bastard but we've been friends for years so you have to know that by now. I've only been this close to two people in my life and I'm scared shitless that I'll stuff this up and lose you. I don't know if I could go through that again. I love you, Daniel.

"I'll give Hammond my resignation as soon as we get back to the SGC."

I could really get into this kissing thing. Fourth kiss and we're getting better at it every time. It feels so good I could get lost in it and . . . wait, wait, resigning? Jack?

Reluctantly I put my hand on his chest and push as hard as I can. Guess I don't know my own strength - he's now sitting on the floor looking up at me with an outraged expression.

"What did I do?" he asks, and I can see the hurt in his eyes.

Maybe that wasn't the best tactic, but in two seconds my brain would have fried and then where would we be? Looks like it's my turn to want to talk. Somehow, in all my fantasies of this moment, I never envisaged having in-depth talks and soul-searching. Yes, that's how I handle things but it's not normally how Jack handles things. The fact that he's willing to do them - he actually initiated the talking - speaks more to me than any words he could use.

"Daniel, what's wrong?"

He's kneeling next to me, looking so concerned I could kiss him. Which would be a bad, bad idea until this is all sorted out.

"Jack, why are you resigning?"

He frowns at me, giving me a look I can only interpret as 'usually he's so bright, but *now* he plays dumb?'.

"Daniel, while most of the military's rules don't apply to you, they do apply to me. And what we're about to do would earn me a long spell in Leavenworth, alone, where you couldn't visit me. Even putting aside that nasty fact, you'd be the prime witness at my court-martial and I don't think either of us wants that. So I'm resigning from the SGC ASAP."

Oh.

Why didn't this occur to me before? I've been so worried about our feelings that the practicality of what we're doing hasn't registered before. It's registering now, in a big way. But at the same time, would Jack be the same man without his job? He loves the SGC, loves his job and he'd become bored and resentful in a week if he quit because of me. I just can't do that. Eventually he'd resent the man that made him retire and that man would be me. Every time I went to work it would remind him of what he'd given up, and he'd be resenting me and worrying about me. It could destroy us.

I don't want to be the one they use to court-martial him but I don't want to be the one that destroys the man I love either. When he's ready retirement will be great - but right now he's not ready. And he's prepared to give it all up for me anyway. This is probably more terrifying than anything else he's ever said to me.

"If you quit, I quit." So it's simplistic - it's the only thing I can come up with right now.

"You can't do that!" he objects. "You're one of the most valuable members of the damn project! And you'd be miserable in a week if you did. I won't let you."

"Well, I won't let you resign either. For exactly the same reasons."

He frowns. "I'm not essential to the project so-"

"Jack, you're as essential to it as I am and we both know you'd be bored and miserable in *less* than a week if you quit. Either we both go or we both stay - there's no middle ground."

"But-"

"No."

"And-"

"No."

"What-"

"Jack, you aren't going to win this so don't even try."

"Daniel-"

"No, Jack. If you resign so do I." There's something strangely appealing about a Jack that's thinking hard. This is something I should never tell him though. "I won't let you be miserable just to be the martyr in this relationship."

"This is a relationship?"

I blink at him. Uh. That got out of my mouth without me even noticing. "Yeah, I guess this is a . . . unless you don't-"

"Oh, no, I like that word. I like it a lot. It implies permanence, commitment . . . regular sex."

I have the feeling that arguing with Jack is going to be even more difficult now than it used to be. "Jack, you're trying to change the subject."

"Ya think?" He grins up at me. "Did it work?"

"That depends . . . are you still resigning?"

"Can we cope with working together and being in lo . . . uh . . ."

"If you can't say the word you should shouldn't be-"

"Daniel, I can say the damned word. In love. Can we cope with working together and being in . . . love?"

I shrug. "I don't see why not. We've been managing for years."

"Good. Then . . . years?"

We are definitely talking too much. I think we've talked through everything we can possibly need to talk about right now and quite frankly I'm now getting nervous. What if he decides that making love with his best friend is too weird and, after all this, he backs out? What if I do? If there's anything left, we can talk about it later. Right now I just want to make sure he's not going to get nervous at the wrong time.

The answer is simple. I put one hand on the back of his neck and pull him towards me as I lean down. Our mouths meet and . . . wow, there it is again. That spark, that fire - it's all there and getting stronger with every second. It's like being in the middle of an inferno, but it feels so good I just want more. And more.

I'm barely aware that I'm shifting forwards, trying to get closer, deeper, until there's a moment of mild disorientation and then I'm landing on Jack. It knocks the breath out of him with a loud "oof" and I have to break off the kiss because he's now gasping for breath.

"Sorry," I say, hiding my face in his neck.

"Don't . . . don't worry about it," he wheezes. "Not your fault."

I have to giggle. It's just so . . . us. Normal people would, by now, be on that bed over there trying to get naked as fast as humanly possible. We, on the other hand, have a deep discussion about it and then try to kill each other as soon as we get things partially resolved. Normal doesn't appear to be a word in either of our vocabularies - and I have twenty-three to chose from which makes it doubly ridiculous.

"Daniel? Whatcha laughing at?"

"Us . . . this . . . just . . ." I gasp, trying to choke down my laughter.

He looks up at me, frowns, and makes a decision. I feel a hand pulling my head down to him and then his lips are fastened to mine, and he's trying to suck my lungs out while creating a fire inside me that's just so enticing I have to give in, laughter be damned. I kiss him back as enthusiastically as I can, revelling in the way he moans and gasps as my hands begin to wander down his ribs and under the unbuttoned shirt. It's heaven and I never want to leave.

Jack does a little exploring of his own, and the feel of his hands on the bare skin of my back is almost too much. He tugs frantically at my shirt, but the buttons are trapped between us and I am not moving because that would require taking my hands off him. So Jack rolls us and . . . ow!

That coffee table is very much in the way, and now I have a sore head. This is not going according to plan, if we had a plan that is.

"Danny? Are you all right?"

"Just concussed. I'm fine."

"Maybe we should move this to a safer venue," he says with a nod to the bed.

Concussion, what concussion? I'm on my feet, tugging Jack to the bed faster than even I thought was possible. Unfortunately when I reach the bed my brain suddenly decides to pipe up and ask me whether I have any idea what we're doing - to which the answer is a resounding 'no'. Jack doesn't give me time to worry, though, and pushes me down on the bed before flopping down beside me. Then he rolls over and begins to kiss and suckle at my neck, at the same time unbuttoning my shirt. Multi-tasking at its finest.

Any higher functions in my brain are melting away, losing themselves in the wonder of this moment. How did we manage without this for so long?

I'm so absorbed with what I'm feeling, what Jack is doing to me and what I'm doing to Jack, that we're almost naked before I'm even aware of it. Just one pair of boxers - mine - between us and that's when my brain starts to work again. Damn.

"Jack, do you have any idea what we're doing?" I gasp.

"We're having sex, Daniel. Making love. Doing the wild thing. If you don't know the word, you shouldn't be doing it."

He leers down at me. I want to thump him, but I'm a pacifist so I'll just . . . ok, my hands aren't exactly obeying me because they've just decided my brain is thinking too hard and begun an in-depth exploration of Jack's back.

"Jack, do you actually know *how* we're meant to do this? Because, pardon me for noticing, but you have different plumbing to what I'm used to and I don't want to do anything that might hurt you."

He puts his head on my shoulder and sighs despairingly. "Why do you have to *think* so damned hard?"

I'm quite proud that we've both managed to resist that particular innuendo. "Because I'm the smart one in this relationship and it's my job. So, do you?"

"I've read books."

My Jack reading books about gay sex? Now I feel incredibly special. "You did? Why?"

Is he actually blushing? "I had this stupid idea that if I knew the mechanics of what I was fantasising about it would be a complete turn-off and I'd go back to thinking of you as Daniel my best friend, rather than Daniel my best friend and object of libidinous lust."

"Ah. And did it work?"

He thrusts gently against my hip.

"Dumb question, sorry," I apologise.

"May I ask why you didn't do any reading before this moment?" he asks curiously.

This time I'm the blushing one. "I had this stupid idea that if I knew the mechanics of what I wanted I'd never be able to stop wanting it."

"Ah. And did it work?"

I try a little thrusting of my own.

"Dumb question, sorry," he apologises. "I guess neither of us were thinking too clearly."

"So, this reading," I begin, "what did you learn?"

"A lot." He pauses. "But I've forgotten a whole lot more. I got distracted by-"

"Oh?"

"The thought of you and me doing all those things and then it was a hopeless idea."

"Ah."

"I gave up after that. Giving my fantasies more ammo didn't seem like a good idea at the time."

"Oh."

"Which means that we still have a lot of reading to do before we get to the fancy stuff."

"Oh." I can't decide whether I'm relieved or disappointed now. "So this . . . what we're doing . . ."

Jack's leer is quite impressive. And also, unfortunately, quite a turn-on. "Oh, now I wouldn't say there's *nothing* we can do. I've got a few ideas. Haven't you ever played around in bed?"

Oh, god, blushing again. I shake my head. It's always been . . . well, straight to the point, so to speak.

"Dannyboy, you've got a lot to learn."

***

I'm never going to move again. My bones appear to have melted, probably at the same time I lost a few hundred IQ points and descended into ecstatic gibberish. And screaming. Can't forget the screaming - I'll never want to forget the screaming. I'm not going to tell Jack that he's the first person to make me scream. His ego doesn't need any more boosting. It's bigger than both of us right now.

Of course, my ego has been helped a little too. Jack came so hard he yelled and shuddered. I did that. I can't believe how good that feels.

I hope I'm not squashing Jack, but I don't have the strength right now to move. He's got me sort of . . . sprawled over him, and I'm burying my face in his neck so I don't have to look at him and start blushing. Part of me thinks I should be feeling embarrassed to be lying, naked and sweaty, on my equally naked and sweaty best friend. But the rest of me is pretty damn happy about the way this evening has turned out, and is threatening to take a mallet to the party-pooper part.

"Danny? You ok?"

"Yeah." I nod vigorously. "You?"

"Yeahsureyoubetcha." I feel a hand at the nape of my neck, rubbing reassuringly. "I'd feel even better if I could see your face."

It's an effort, but I manage to raise my head and look down at his face. The only word I can think of is joy. He looks so happy, so filled with peace and happiness, that it takes my breath away. I can't resist tasting his lips again, but this time the kiss is lazy and sensual rather than desperately passionate and I'm barely out of breath when we eventually part again.

"You are amazing," he tells me eventually.

I can feel the blush starting at my ears and burning down, so I hide my head on Jack's shoulder again.

"Now, now, you can't do that any more," he says cheerfully. "You're the one who opened me up to the sappy side of life - you have to deal with the consequences."

"Grrphl sstrnnght."

He pulls my head up again. "What was that?"

"God help me," I moan. "You didn't need any help getting into the mushy side of life - have you forgotten Space Monkey so easily?"

"Mitigating circumstances."

"Ah-hah."

He plants another kiss on my mouth, probably just to get rid of the rampant scepticism on my face. Sadly, it works very well. I can see arguing with Jack is going to be much more difficult now - my brain seems to shut down as soon as his lips get anywhere near me. I've got visions of us having one of our knockdown, drag-out arguments in my office and him ending it by pulling me into one of those amazing kisses he seems to do so well.

And now I'm imagining Jack's court-martial when Hammond walks in to find us in the aforementioned lip-lock. Oh, god.

"Jack, I've been thinking."

"Again?"

"We need some ground-rules."

"Ground-rules?" His expression is slightly worried. "Relationships don't have ground-rules. What would we need them for?"

"Well, this relationship could end you up in a court-martial if we don't have ground-rules. That makes it slightly different from other relationships."

"Oh." I can feel him thinking again. Maybe he just needs motivation to use his natural intelligence. "I kinda thought you'd hate doing the sneaking around, hiding away thing. It's not really . . . you."

I'm beginning to see why he gets so grumpy when I'm thinking too much. Although my muscles turned into jelly about an hour ago, I shift myself off him and prop my head up on one hand so I can see his face. Jack immediately decides that I'm too far away and tangles his legs with mine, while one of his hands rests on my hip. It's strangely comforting as I struggle with my words.

"Jack, I hate the idea of lying about us. It's not right and it's not fair. But our choices aren't big here - retirement, or staying apart. I've done option two for too many years; option one would kill both of us, so I think we'll have to go with sneaking. We can do that. It's not like we'd have to pretend that we don't know each other. We've been friends for years and everyone knows we spend time together out of work."

"So, we hide in plain sight."

"Essentially, yes." I smile at him. "People will get more suspicious if we stop hanging around each other than if we carry on as we always have."

Jack's eyes are as familiar to me as Sam's, so why have I never noticed before how warm they are, and how much love they hold? It's breathtaking.

"So," he says slowly, "rule one will have to be 'be discreet'. Don't do anything that would get people suspicious."

"Sounds good." I pause. "And rule two will have to clarify that - hands stay out of areas that friends don't normally touch."

He shifts his hand from away my ass, back onto my hip and looks pointedly to where my fingers are absently circling his left nipple. I think we're both going to have to work at that one.

"Rule three," he adds, "will be 'no funny business on duty'."

I look down meaningfully.

"This doesn't count." Jack couldn't look innocent if the world depended on it. "This is strictly therapeutic."

My expression is past dubious, straight into complete disbelief.

Jack's hand returns to my ass and pulls me closer. "All this talk of feelings and stuff is deeply distressing for me. I need - we need this to get us over the F words, and the E words, and the L words."

"I love you, Jack."

"Love you too, Danny."

He rolls us and I find myself pinned beneath a hundred and eighty pounds of naked USAF Colonel. Where does he get the energy? Not that I'm complaining - the evidence of his energy pressing against my hip is doing marvels for my recuperative powers as well. I'm just wondering - the man is meant to be ten years older than me!

"So, you gonna help me with that therapy?" he leers down at me.

I shrug and pull him into the most passionate kiss I can manage. We can start working on those rules tomorrow.

***

Jack

For one moment, I have no idea where I am. There's a warm weight on my chest and I have some new, interesting aches but that's as far as I can get. I'm trained to wake up quickly, without this half-dozing in between period, but today that training has gone to hell. The idea of staying in this warm bed has much more appeal.

A warm breath huffs against my neck. It's . . . now I'm remembering. Daniel - we . . . and he . . . well, how about that?

Time to open my eyes. Just to make sure I wasn't dreaming after all. Nope, I wasn't. He's half-draped across me, the head on my shoulder firmly pressed against my neck and I can feel one leg draped across mine. In other words, he's snuggling.

I never thought I'd get snuggled by a naked Daniel Jackson. I have no shame - I'm feeling smug as heck and incredibly horny.

My hands have decided to take action while my mind is still concentrating on the wonder of naked snuggling. Lots of silky skin to explore, and my hands are taking full advantage. Nice.

I've tasted, licked and kissed most of this nice naked body but I have a feeling that will never be enough. Keeping my hands off him is going to be difficult, but I see no reason why I should even try right now.

Slow, gentle sweeps over his back, lightly kneading his ass, and he's arching into my touch with a tiny moan. God, that feels good.

All the fantasies I've had are nothing compared to the reality of holding Daniel in my arms. It's a good thing I'm a well-balanced, secure male or I'd be worried about the signs of incipient sappiness.

Daniel is now moving gently against me, still fast asleep, and his hands are doing a little wandering of their own. I wonder how far he can get before he wakes up?

A tiny bleeping noise pulls me out of the sensual haze I've quite happily fallen into and I have to remove both hands from Daniel's naked body in order to turn off the alarm on my watch. Aw, crap. Do you think Hammond would believe me if I said we've both got flu and absolutely have to stay in bed for the rest of the conference?

No, I don't suppose he would. Time to wake Daniel up then.

I know how insecure he can be. Even after last night he'll probably still be worried about me rejecting him, or leaving him, or something stupid. So there is no way I can get up and order breakfast for him - he'd probably wake up, find me gone and think the worst. With the lack of coffee I'll just have to find another way to wake him up. This could be fun.

There's a bare shoulder close to my mouth, which seems like a perfect place to start. A few kisses, a tiny nibble . . . oh, yeah, this is working great. I work my way up his neck, kissing and licking as I go, and I have definite movement. He's aroused, moving restlessly against me, but still fast asleep. Time for a more active approach. I lift his head and fasten my lips to his.

Oh, mamma, talk about your quick responses. This is sweet.

Don't let anyone fool you - Daniel is a *great* kisser. He holds nothing back, once you've convinced him that you really do want to kiss him, and all that passion inside him just explodes out. I've got his tongue battling with mine, stroking, exploring, sparking everything inside me until all I can think about is burying myself in him and never letting go. All I have to do is give him a little bit of encouragement and then he does the rest. I'm giving as good as I get, tasting every inch of that beautiful mouth and swallowing every moan and gasp he makes.

Eventually I have to concede to the need for oxygen and pull away, biting down on that lush lower lip as I go and feeling rather pleased with the flushed, dazed expression on Daniel's face.

"Hel-lo." Yes, I'm leering. So sue me - I think I'm entitled.

He slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at me and immediately starts to blush. I can feel the goofy grin start on my face so I firmly return it to a leer.

"Daniel, it's no good getting shy now." I turn the leer up a notch. "After last night there is no way you are going to get away with that shy archaeologist routine."

His shy smile lights up his face. "I wasn't dreaming?"

I put a hand on his ass and pull him closer to me. "Does this feel like a dream?"

Daniel pretends to consider it. "Well, I may need some more conclusive proof."

"I can do that . . . later."

"Later?"

"Unless you've forgotten, we've got a job to do. We have to be down in that reception room in forty five minutes."

I regretfully begin to untangle myself from Daniel. My own arousal is a pleasant ache but our lovemaking last night at least took the uncontrollable edge off my libido. Enough for me to be able to lie to myself and con myself into taking a cold shower to deal with it, anyway. Our real vacation can't start soon enough for me.

Without warning, I'm on my back again with Daniel holding my hands above my head. Damn, I never knew he could move that fast.

"I've got another new rule for this relationship," he tells me, his eyes glittering. "Don't start something unless you intend to finish it."

He nips at my neck and my hips buck as pleasure shoots straight through me. This is a side of him I've never seen before.

"Daniel, we have to - oh, god - shower . . . mmm . . . conference . . . Hammond-"

He pulls back. "Hammond? Jack, is there something I should know?"

I almost choke.

Daniel smiles at me happily. "Just checking. Now, where was I?"

Oh, I give up. There isn't a hormone in my body that isn't screaming "yes, please, conference what conference?" and I have lost the will to fight them.

"Right about . . . yeah, there. That's good. We could kill two birds with one stone, though."

He stops licking my collarbone, unfortunately, and looks up again. "We could?"

"Shower and us."

"I, uh . . . are you suggesting, um, y'know . . . in the shower?"

"Sex, Daniel, I'm suggesting sex. In the shower. If you can't say it you shouldn't be . . ."

Did he actually growl at me?

"Don't you dare."

I smile innocently up at him. "What?"

"You know what you were about to say."

"I do?"

Yeah, this time it was definitely a growl. My Daniel growls. I wonder how many other interesting noises I can get him to make? I've already established that screaming and moaning are possibilities, but . . .

"What am I going to do with you?" he muses, half-seriously.

"I have some ideas," I tell him with another leer and a slight movement of my hips against his. "Starting with the shower."

***

I'm more than tempted to tell Hammond and that damned conference to get lost - I have much more important things to do. And I mean that in both senses of the word. But that would break rule number one - be discreet - and I don't think Daniel would forgive me for that. Personally I think he's more than worth a court-martial, but neither of us wants him to be the evidence used against me so I'll have to give in.

But I can honestly say that I couldn't care less about being a few minutes late to that conference. Best damn shower I've ever had. I don't think making love with Daniel is ever going to be a fast experience. It's something to savour and enjoy for as long as possible - and as often as possible. My libido thinks I'm a teenager again.

"Daniel, are you decent yet?"

"Just a minute, Jack."

I tried to convince him we could get dressed in the same room, but my hands (and other parts of my body) let me down and he shooed me back to my room. If we left right now we'd be in the reception room in plenty of time, but Daniel's waiting for room service to appear with the coffee. Even my wake-up call hasn't eliminated his need for caffeine. If he could get coffee by IV, he probably would.

"Daniel, if you aren't ready in two seconds-"

"Just a minute!"

Like being fully clothed is going stop me wanting him. Well, he's just going to have to deal with it. I can hear voices next door so room service must have arrived. That's my signal.

"Jack!"

The tone of voice isn't a loving one this time - it's warning. My heart in my mouth, I rush to the connecting door. I have enough sense left to grab my gun from its holster on the bureau next to the door before pushing the door open.

Oh, god. Daniel's on the floor, motionless. Something, bright red feathers - it's a dart in his neck. There's a sharp scratching feeling on my neck and then blackness is claiming my mind. I want to shoot the bastard but my hands won't obey me. I'm falling . . .

***

Daniel

This time waking up isn't nearly as nice as it was earlier. I'll go back to waking up kissing Jack, if you don't mind.

My head is pounding, it feels like something died in my mouth and if I try to move I think I'll be sick. Either I have the worst hangover in history or I've been drugged.

I remember opening the door for room service . . . turning away to get my tie . . . a tiny scratch on my neck . . . calling out to warn Jack . . . then nothing. It's not hard to guess what happened. Probably a dart tipped with a sedative. Ugh, I hate being drugged.

I can feel a hard floor under me and it's chilly, so I'm not in the hotel room anymore. Did Jack manage to get a warning out? The fogginess from the drug is wearing off, although I've still got that hung over feeling, and now I can hear what's going on around me. Holding my breath, I stretch every fibre to hear. Somewhere to my left I can hear someone else breathing, and then a faint moan. I recognise that voice - Jack.

For a moment I'm glad that he's with me until I realise what else it means - there's no one out there to rescue us. Damn.

"What hit me?" he groans.

"I don't know, but it hit me too," I answer.

"Daniel?"

"Over here, Jack." I risk opening my eyes and turning my head to see him sitting up, cradling his head in his hands. "I don't suppose you got a message to Hammond?"

"Shit."

I decide that sitting up would be good, and then rethink that when the world swings dizzily and my stomach threatens to rebel. "Great."

"I'm embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?"

"Daniel, we've been kidnapped and I was sent along to prevent anything like this happening! I'm embarrassed and ashamed. I was thinking with my dick rather than my head."

Oh, boy, I guess I have to get up after all. Somehow I manage to crawl over Jack without being sick and put my hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault. I was pretty reckless too."

He doesn't look convinced.

"By now I should be used to this sort of thing happening as soon as Goa'uld technology appears," I add. "He seemed . . . harmless."

"Professor Stevens?"

"Well, who else knew that I recognised it, Jack? I can't think of anyone else who'd go to the trouble of kidnapping me."

Good, he's calming down again. I can see the wheels turning in his mind as he starts to look around our prison, threat-assessing and forming plans. My colonel is bright, no matter how hard he sometimes tries to look otherwise, and if I have to be kidnapped I'm glad it's with him. Between the two of us we should be out of here in no time. I hope.

He checks his watch. "We've been out for twelve hours. We didn't make the morning check-in with Hammond, and this evening's will be overdue in five minutes, so he'll know that something's up."

I nod my understanding.

"So we just have to get word to them of where we are and wait for the rescue squad," Jack continues. "Hammond is going to have my hide for this. The British military gets so superior if they have to get our butts out of trouble."

Whatever we were drugged with has left a killer hangover and my admiration for Jack increases as he stands and begins pacing around the cell. All I can manage is to prop myself against a wall and try not to watch him - he's making me even dizzier. How does he do that?

We appear to be locked into a basement with no windows and only one door. There's no furniture and the only light is several florescent strips overhead. That door looks fairly sturdy so I think for now we'll have to wait here until someone comes to get us. Going by previous experience of this sort of thing, our captors won't be able to resist checking on us as soon as they judge we're awake. Jack's angry expression does not bode well for life expectancy of our gaolers. I'd almost feel sorry for them if I didn't feel so sick.

"Jack, you're making me dizzy," I tell him after a few minutes. "Do you mind not moving so much?"

He takes one look at my face, which is probably a lovely shade of green right now, and immediately looks guilt-stricken.

"Sorry, Danny," he apologises, crouching down next to me. "That stuff hit you pretty hard, huh?"

I nod slowly. "Remind me not to do this again."

He sits down next to me, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the warmth from his body, and stretches his legs out. "I'll make it another rule - do not drug Daniel. Is that rule three or four?"

"Five, I think." I frown. "Why aren't you feeling terrible?"

Jack grins and shrugs modestly. "Natural stamina."

That leer of his is positively criminal.

"And I don't have to take allergy meds, so there isn't anything for the stuff to react against." He reaches out and rests a hand on my arm, which strangely makes me feel a little better. "You'd think Doc Fraiser would have that sorted by now."

"I don't think she anticipates me being drugged and kidnapped regularly."

I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall, concentrating on simply breathing slowly and regularly. After a moment Jack's hand on my arm starts to move in a soothing pattern, gently caressing and lending me some of his warm strength. It briefly occurs to me that I should stop that, right now, before it becomes an unbreakable habit. But then I give a mental shrug. It feels good, the pain in my head is starting to ease slightly and my stomach is starting to settle. I'll just have to remind him not to do it when we're at the SGC. And as Jack said last night, we have a history of touching. People get worried when we *don't* have public displays of affection. As long as we don't do anything out of character, who's going to say anything?

This new facet of our relationship hasn't changed the basic foundation. He's still my best friend, my confidant, and the person I rely on more than anyone - just as he always has been. I've always firmly believed that relationships should have that at their centre so maybe this is just the natural progression of everything we've been for each other since we met. The physical side incredible, if a little frightening - we've worked out a few things for ourselves but I can see an awkward trip to a bookstore in my future - but it's strengthened the bond we've always had. At the end of the day, will there really be anything there for anyone to see that hasn't always been there?

That connection kicks in suddenly and I can feel Jack tense beside me as his hand stills on my arm. A moment later I hear a slight noise outside the door. He doesn't even have to say anything - he's across the room in a second to take up a position flattened against the wall next to the door and I play sick. Or at least, sicker. I slump against my wall and put on the most pitiful look I can muster.

Look at the poor, sick archaeologist. He's no threat, and if you don't get across here pretty smart he might just die on you.

What can I say, I'm a ham at heart.

Footsteps enter the room and I peek up to see two tall, thuggish-looking guards enter the room. They're concentrating so hard on pointing guns at the wall above my head that they haven't even noticed Jack. Somehow, I don't think they were employed for their brainpower.

Thug Two makes the mistake of getting within arm-reach of Jack and my colonel takes a great deal of pleasure in chopping at his neck and rendering him unconscious before he even has time to cry out. Quick and efficient.

I don't have time to admire Jack's display because Thug One makes his own mistake. I guess my poor, sick archaeologist act is really working because he steps closer to me rather than looking back to his colleague. Close enough that I'm able to move my outstretched legs and sweep his legs out from under him. He drops with a surprised yelp and then Jack's on him, pinning his gun arm down and knocking him unconscious. It's teamwork at its finest.

"You ok?" he asks, throwing the gun in my direction.

I'm quite proud that I catch the gun without fumbling. The clumsy archaeologist who didn't know one end of a gun from the other when he first arrived at the SGC has mostly gone now. Sometimes I miss him.

"I'm fine," I tell him, quickly checking the gun over. "You?"

He picks up Thug Two's gun. "Better now. Y'know, whoever decorated this room has to be told that beige and green do not go together."

I stand, grateful that the dizziness and nausea is gone now, with only a faint headache to remind me that so far today I've been loved, drugged and kidnapped. Archaeology conferences can be pretty exciting, if you know the right people.

"In that case, we'd better try to get out of here," I say, stepping over the thugs to stand next to Jack by the door. "I worry when you start noticing the décor."

He grins at me before cautiously looking down the corridor. The coast is clear so he signals to me and we step out warily, covering each other's backs. It's long and dimly lit, bare light bulbs hanging at infrequent intervals down its length being the only illumination. There are doors off both sides of the corridor but ours is the only open one. The peeling paint, damp smell and bare, concrete floor indicate that it's probably some time since this part of the building saw regular use. Wherever we are, it's unlikely anyone will stumble on us accidentally. Perfect for holding a couple of people prisoner in. I don't think they counted on having a pissed off Special Ops colonel as one of their guests, though.

"Pick a direction," Jack tells me.

I squint up and down the corridor. We're about halfway down, and I have no real idea which way we should go. Apart from . . . the light may be slightly brighter to the right, and I think there's something in the shadows at the end. A staircase?

"Right looks good," I suggest.

Jack peers down the corridor and shrugs. "Good as anything, I guess."

Years of training and working together make it almost automatic to go down the corridor in stages, taking turns to cover each other as we go and checking each door we go past to make sure we don't get any nasty surprises. My guess was right; as work our way along the shadows resolve into a narrow staircase. I'm surprised no one has checked up on our two guards, but I suppose our captors are either not very bright or there aren't many of them.

A lot of things about this aren't adding up. Such as why Professor Stevens needed to kidnap us. And if it wasn't him, who was it? To be honest, over the years Jack and I have probably annoyed a lot of people but I can't see any of them kidnapping us and locking us up in an abandoned . . . whatever this is. There must be a reason why we've been taken, and it's probably either my knowledge or . . . um, I love him but is there any reason anyone in their right mind would want to kidnap Colonel Jack 'Pain in the Ass' O'Neill?

So, we're down to my knowledge. And the person who most recently showed interest in my knowledge is . . . Professor Stevens with his Goa'uld artefact. I have a bad feeling about this.

Jack jerks his thumb towards the stairs and I nod my understanding. As he climbs the stairs and checks the door, I keep an eye and my gun trained down the corridor. It wouldn't be good for someone to surprise us now.

I hear a whispered "clear" and hurry up the stairs. For a moment I'm stunned at where we've emerged. It's . . . well, huge wouldn't be an exaggeration.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but this definitely isn't it. We are standing in what I would guess is the lobby of an old, abandoned hotel. The ceiling is twenty feet above us and warm evening light is filtering down through the dusty air from windows set high in the walls. Directly opposite us is the main door, but it's solid metal so I still have no idea where exactly we are. The long reception desk is to our right and to our left a wide staircase curves away, leading to the hotel's bedrooms if I'm not mistaken. Darker marks on the thick red carpet mark where there used to be chairs and tables scattered around the lobby. Although the air is filled with dust, the surfaces appear reasonably clean so someone has been using this place since it was closed. Based on the remaining lavish, Twenties-inspired décor and amazing woodwork I'd guess that this used to be one of the finer hotels which means that, unless we've changed cities, we're probably still in inner London.

I'm not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing right now. I'm certain that I'd still prefer being back in the bed with Jack, though.

Jack gestures to the reception desk and I nod as I follow him over. He neatly vaults the desk and starts rifling through drawers while I keep an eye on the rest of the lobby. I can hear low curses as he comes up empty-handed.

"Daniel?"

I risk taking my eyes off the empty lobby for a moment. "Jack?"

He indicates a doorway behind him that I missed on my first inspection of the room. "Keep an eye out for me, will ya? Yell if any goons show up."

I edge around the desk and take up my position in front of the door as Jack gives me a quick, reassuring grin before ducking into the room. The complete lack of goons, guards or anyone even remotely interested in us is beginning to worry me.

Either we just disabled the brains in this operation, which frankly worries me because I hate the idea that I got kidnapped by people *that* stupid, or the rest of the crew is elsewhere. After the sedative-dart incident this morning I have to settle on option two and the whereabouts of our erstwhile kidnappers is starting to become a major concern. We need to find out where we are and get word to Hammond before anyone finds out that we aren't locked up where we're supposed to be. Then we can start finding out why we've been kidnapped.

Something catches my eye on the floor and I glance down. The corner of something white is poking out from under the desk. It's not much, but maybe . . . I nudge it out of its hiding place with my shoe and swiftly bend to retrieve it. There's still nothing moving out in the lobby so I risk looking down at the scrap of paper in my hand. It looks like our luck is in - it's an old matchbook from the hotel, complete with the address in Kensington. At least we know where we are now.

"Jack?" I call quietly.

He pops his head out of the door and I hand him the matchbook.

"I knew there was a reason I keep you around," he says with smile, and ducks back into tiny room to investigate the telephone.

Judging by the desk, wooden chair and aging photographs on the walls I'd guess that it used to be the back office and retreat for the poor receptionists when this place was up and running. After a moment I hear low muttering and guess that whoever has taken over the hotel had the sense to keep the phone lines up and running. Jack's contact should get the message to the General, who is probably bullying people in Whitehall as we speak to sort out a rescue mission. Sometimes there are a few advantages to having so much classified material in our brains.

Now we've got that sorted out, we need to start investigating this place and finding a way out. The main door looks incredibly solid so, unless we can find keys, we won't be getting out through it. The windows are too high up unless we find a ladder so I think we're going to have to explore a little more. Hopefully we'll find some more clues about why we're here at the same time.

A door slams somewhere in the hotel and my heart sinks. Looks like getting out of here just got more complicated. I can hear the sound of several heavy feet running and then men begin pouring out of the door to the basement. Somehow I think they may have realised that we aren't where we're supposed to be. That thought is confirmed when I see Thug One being supported by one of his fellow henchmen.

"We've got company," I warn Jack, ducking out of sight behind the desk.

A yell from the goons tells me I ducked a little too late.

***

Jack

Daniel's quiet warning came too late for me to do more than duck down and flatten myself against the wall next to the door. Damn. Getting out of here is going to be a lot more difficult that I thought it would. Now that Hammond and co. know where we are, though, I had planned to find out a little more about why we had been taken. After all, they've gone to the trouble of drugging us and sneaking us out of the conference - they must want something and ten chances to one it's something to do with the Goa'uld toy we spotted yesterday. Which means that, yet again, someone wants something from Daniel.

If we were off-world I wouldn't be so quick to assume that - there are still enough System Lords out there that we've pissed off to make it debatable which of us is the target. But I haven't spent enough time on Earth, off base, over the past couple of years to have annoyed anyone enough to do this. Daniel only seems to irritate System Lords - humans usually adore him. And Professor Stevens is the most recent person to show an interest in our archaeologist so, unless other information appears, I'm going to agree with Daniel's assessment of our probable situation. The nutty professor wouldn't be stupid enough to bring his nice toy with him, would he?

I risk popping my head around the doorjamb but the desk is blocking my view. From the noise out there I'd guess there are several of them and they know we're here. Crap.

Keeping low, I move out of the little office and crouch next to Daniel.

"Got any ideas?" he asks me.

"Throw your guns down and come out with your hands up," a voice yells from the other side of the desk.

"Y'know," I say loudly, "as clichés go, that one sucks big time. It sounds so . . ."

"Unprofessional?" Daniel offers with a slight quirk of his lips.

"Exactly. It's bad enough they've got a base that would make Dr Evil embarrassed, but do they have to use the clichés?"

"You have five seconds to come out with your hands over your head," the voice shouts, "or we'll start shooting."

I roll my eyes. "Do they have some kind of standard book of phrases for this stuff?"

For the record, although I complain a little - ok, a lot - about Daniel's extreme reluctance to pick up any military skills it's also a complete lie. He can shoot straight, he can at least pretend to understand the concept of obeying orders even if he usually chooses not to and, most importantly, he's extremely proficient with my team's hand signals. Must be a linguist thing. So while I'm trying to irritate and annoy the goons out there we're also conducting a little argument about my 'plan'. After a few seconds of adamant hand waving he has to give in and concede that my plan is better that actually doing as the goons out there want us to.

"Five . . . four . . ."

"Now that is just insulting," I complain, nodding to Daniel.

I roll right, he rolls left, and we don't stop until we each reach a wall at which point we both begin firing about ten feet over the goons' heads and running forwards along our walls. Works like a treat. They don't expect us to come out firing and it takes them a good few seconds to work out that we're not actually shooting to hit them. Those seconds are used to good effect and we're both most of the way along the lobby, almost level with them, before they start thinking about retaliation or any other stupid stuff.

It's kind of hard to shoot at moving targets while trying not to hit your team-mates. I should know - I've had to do it.

Six big, hefty looking guys are blocking our escape into the rest of the hotel and, to give them their dues, they do make a valiant attempt to shoot at me. Trouble is they're aiming too high and about six feet behind me. Can't feel sorry for them though.

One of the brighter ones decides that throwing himself at me might slow me down a little and I'm suddenly pinned under two hundred pounds of British bad guy. Twist, chop, push, throw . . . ouch, that had to hurt.

Another one gets his brain in gear and runs at me. At the same time I hear a startled "oof" from the other side of the room and guess that one guy has just discovered that not all archaeologists are harmless. Danny gets 'em with that every time.

Problem is I've now got three doing their best to kick the crap out of me and one of them just knocked my gun out of my hand. Damn.

"Stop!" a new voice shouts, and I turn my head to see Professor Stevens holding a gun to Daniel's head. "Stop this now or I'll shoot him!"

My momentary hesitation allows the rest of his henchmen to regroup and there are four clicks as four guns are trained on me with deadly intent. At this point lying very still on the floor seems like a great plan. Hammond, you'd better get here damned fast.

***

If looks could kill, that desk would currently be bursting into flames.

Daniel is . . . unhappy, is a diplomatic way to put it. But I'm not a diplomat so I'm going to say it - Daniel is spitting, hopping, explosively angry. I'm a sick puppy - angry-Daniel has never failed to turn me on. Sick, sick puppy.

We were hauled out of the lobby, dragged up three flights of stairs and force-marched down a hallway. Daniel was kicking and struggling the entire way until a gun was held to my head, which had the same effect on him as the same move had on me earlier. In revenge he went as limp as cooked spaghetti, hence the dragging.

Our destination turned out to be the wacky professor's office in one of the old hotel bedrooms. We've been tied to some incredibly uncomfortable wooden chairs and left to await Stevens' pleasure, or whatever.

Daniel's anger isn't directed at the rough handling, or even at the tying up. No, what he's irritated about is the office. Go figure.

It's like sitting in the junk room of a museum - there are odds and ends from twenty different cultures displayed on shelves around the room. In fact there are so many artefacts here that the shelves can't hold them all so they're piled up on the floor, the desk - hell, anywhere. If that wasn't bad enough, they're dusty, there are books just *dumped* on the floor with pages falling out and the overall impression is that Stevens couldn't care less about the condition of his collection.

Daniel hates artefact abuse. He reserves a special kind of hatred for book abuse. Put the two together and I almost feel sorry for the nutty professor.

"Daniel," I say, trying to shoot for a calming tone.

"What?" Snappy Daniel is even better than angry-Daniel. I'm beyond sick, moving into twisted.

"Don't take it personally. They aren't your books."

He glares at me. "Jack, it's bad enough that he's got so many artefacts that should in museums, being studied, but he's destroying them! They-they should be cared for, protected. He's-"

"Daniel."

"He's making a mockery of everything we should be working for! It's disgusting, horrific - he's an animal."

"Daniel."

He's practically bouncing in his seat, despite being tied to it. "How can he do this? Where is his professional integrity? He probably doesn't even have records of where they were found. And he calls himself an archaeologist?"

"Daniel!"

Startled blue eyes turn to me and I silently mouth 'I love you'. It completely disrupts his rant and he stutters to a halt. It's a technique to keep in mind for later.

I grin at his confused expression. "Daniel, could you put aside the hissy fit for a moment? We've got a job to do."

Oops, bad thing to say. Now I'm the one who should be burning up under the force of that gaze.

"Hissy. Fit?" he says carefully.

"You know what I mean." I grin nervously as Daniel's eyes promise that we'll be discussing this later. Probably volubly and at length. And I'll be sleeping on the couch until we've 'talked' it out. Damn, looks like I've got to figure out make-up sex already. That's really going to be torture.

The door behind us opens and we have to table any discussions or plans as Professor Stevens scuttles into the room. It's the only way to describe him - he's shorter than Janet, thin enough to look fragile and moves in tiny, jerky bursts. In fact he looks utterly harmless. The herd of hefty goons downstairs and my bruises are pretty solid reminders that he isn't. Daniel is glaring at the man and even he can't quite shrug off the full force of those burning, incredibly angry blue eyes.

Stevens takes refuge behind his desk and plops down on his chair. I can't help noticing that it's much more comfortable than ours. The perks of being an insane archaeologist I guess.

He smiles at us nervously. "So."

"So," I drawl, ignoring Daniel's indignant snort.

"I know why you're here," Stevens says, fluttering his hands.

"Really?" I grin. "Do tell."

"You're here to stop me, but I'm afraid it's too late."

OK, I'm lost. He thinks we're what?

"Excuse me, but what are we meant to be stopping?" Daniel asks, blinking curiously. "You've lost me."

He's not the only one.

"Stop playing games Dr Godefroot, or whoever you are," Stevens says with a hesitant smile. "I know you aren't really an archaeologist. You may have fooled all those dupes at the conference, but I know what you are. I did a little checking last night - Walter Godefroot retired two years ago. I haven't managed to track down your 'friend' yet but I'm reasonably sure that Captain John Walton isn't the man sitting next to you."

I exchange glances with Daniel. May as well find out what he thinks we are while he's feeling so talkative.

"So if I'm not Dr Godefroot, who am I?" Daniel asks.

Stevens frowns slightly. "I'm not entirely positive yet. You're probably military - you both have that air - and it's yet another sign that the British government doesn't have any power anymore if they're having to bring in the US military to sort out their own problems."

Nope, still lost here. And Daniel's anger has now settled into the icy phase. He's very proud of being an archaeologist, anthropologist and linguist - he hates being mistaken for military with a holy passion. Not that it happens very often, but still . . .

"You think that I . . . am a member of the US military," Daniel says slowly, carefully - coldly.

Stevens utterly fails to notice the temperature drop or take Daniel's hints and die. "Possibly. But I am pleased to inform you that you have arrived to late to stop me."

"Stop you . . . what?"

Getting close to Arctic conditions here.

The wacky professor reaches into a drawer and pulls out two wrapped bundles, one larger than the other. He proudly pulls off the cloth on the smaller object and places it neatly on the desk.

Crap.

I recognise that. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Daniel's expression so I know he recognises it too. He's got a mixture of horror and . . . scientific curiosity. Jeez, I can't take him or Carter anywhere. Doesn't matter the situation - they both do that. They take scientific curiosity to new and amazingly dangerous heights sometimes.

"I see you recognise my amulet," Stevens says with a proud smile. "It's quite beautiful, isn't it?"

Sure, if you like Goa'uld stuff. Which I emphatically *don't*.

"I've done some tests and it's absolutely fascinating. It's much older than anything else I've seen. Maybe even eight or ten thousand years old." Stevens lovingly caressed the Goa'uld toy. "So many questions, so many questions. It's the scientific find of the century and it's mine."

God, the guy is actually getting turned-on by an amulet. Suddenly my perversions don't look quite as bad.

"So, what exactly are we meant to be stopping?" I ask, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Enlighten us. We beg of you."

Stevens smiles dreamily. "Retrieving this."

He unwraps the second package and places it reverently on the desk. I have absolutely no idea what it is, and I have a feeling I don't want to know. It looks like a gold rod, about a foot long, with a clear crystal globe at one end that's a couple of inches wide. Daniel probably has lots of fancy words for it that mean squat to me but right now I'm just going to go with 'rod thingy'. Descriptive and to the point.

"Where did you get that?" Daniel asks mildly.

"My associates borrowed it from the British Museum last night. I thought it prudent to move our schedule forward after our little talk yesterday." Stevens is practically drooling over there. "It's the second part of the amulet. The fools had no idea what they had."

"And you do?" I ask sceptically. "I think not."

There's a flash of anger in Stevens' eyes. "And what do you know? Are you seriously going to tell me that two military boneheads know more than a man who's studied archaeology for thirty years?"

That has got to be the final straw. Daniel can put up with a lot, but that may be too much. I risk a glance sideways and . . . well, outwardly Daniel looks calm. But I know him too well - there are those tiny lines that signal an imminent headache and his entire face is just a little too tense. He's holding his anger and frustration in, and that usually means he'll have physical symptoms later.

"Have you translated the script on the amulet?" Daniel asks calmly. "You seemed . . . *interested* in the interpretation of this military bonehead yesterday."

His look to me is so quick that, if I didn't know better, I'd swear it never happened. Stevens missed it anyway. And it's the look that says he's onto something and has a plan. Daniel is way smarter than I am. No question about it.

"I seem to recall you begging me to join your team," Daniel continues. "If I'm not an archaeologist, why would you do that?"

Score one for the sane archaeologist in the room. He's onto your game, Stevens, and he ain't playing. If you're hoping he'll lose his temper and give up his knowledge you've got the wrong guy. Daniel's resisted the worst that a System Lord can throw at him - I somehow don't think he'll just be rolling over for you.

"Ideograms," Stevens snaps.

Even I know that's wrong, but I firmly suppress all attempts at smiling. Come on Hammond, where are you?

"Well, if you won't help me I'll just have to work it out for myself," Stevens says after a long silence.

At last I hear the sound we've been waiting for - gunfire on the lower levels. Looks like our rescue has begun.

"We'd love to stay and watch but that sounds like our cue," I tell him cheerfully. "I'd say it's been nice . . . but it really hasn't."

Instead of picking up his trophies and running, as any reasonable thief would do, Stevens sits staring at them for a moment. Hammond wouldn't have started the extraction unless he knew he had the building surrounded so I'm not hugely worried that Stevens will get out with his Goa'uld toy. I am, though, concerned that the final flicker of sanity has just exited the building over there. And he has a Goa'uld toy.

A burst of gunfire slightly closer shocks the professor out of his momentary trance and he reaches for the pieces of alien technology, muttering under his breath. His hands are shaking so badly he almost drops them several times but with a little fiddling he fits the rod into a slot on the amulet with a quiet 'snick' sound.

After a second, Stevens' face drops.

"Nothing's happening!" he howls.

If he looked closer he'd see that the crystal globe has begun to glow slightly, but he passed rational about ten minutes ago.

"What did you think would happen?" Daniel asks calmly.

"It . . . it . . . my work! . . . I . . ."

Stevens is almost crying with disappointment. The glow from the crystal is getting brighter.

"Daniel," I warn, nodding towards the rod in Stevens' hand.

His eyes tell me that he's seen what I've seen but they stay firmly on the professor's face. "Nothing is going to happen. You can take it apart now."

"No! It's . . . something . . ."

Stevens waves the rod around for a moment, almost as though he expects to jog a circuit back into place. He's totally lost it - if he had any sanity left he'd see that the crystal is now merrily glowing away.

Instead he points the rod between Daniel and I, screaming, "You did this! Tell me what you've done."

The crystal is burning my eyes now. This has gone beyond bad feelings into . . .

I exchange glances with Daniel and we both realise what's happening at the same moment. Crap.

I rock to the side as hard as I can and the chair mercifully tips over. I hear a splintering sound as something in the wooden chair breaks, but I'm much more interested in the heat that's passed straight over where my head was. Quick glance over and I see Daniel's on his side too, head still intact.

Stevens is nowhere to be seen but there's still a lot of light coming from somewhere in the room, and it's getting brighter again. There's gunfire and shouting outside but I have no time to focus on it. Have to get out of these ropes first.

Pull, kick . . . chair is breaking. Free at last.

I crawl over to Daniel and hunker down to untie his ropes.

"Get out of here!" he shouts.

I tug firmly at the ropes on his wrists. "Shut up, Daniel."

He glares at me but I hope my expression is telling him that this time I'm not leaving. Not going to happen.

Behind the desk there's a scrabbling sound and I hear Stevens muttering to himself too quietly for me to make out. The light from his Goa'uld thing is already brighter than it was for the first discharge. This cannot be a good thing.

These ropes are not budging. A couple of swift kicks to the legs of the chair free Daniel's legs and then I'm dragging him out of the office, trailing the remains of the splintered chair.

We're just in time. Somehow we clear the door and get a couple of feet down the corridor outside before the device discharges again. This time there's a loud scream from inside the room, filled with pain before it abruptly cuts off. The flash of light from the room is blinding, pure white light, painfully intense.

I close my eyes and throw myself across Daniel, wincing at the pained "oof" from under me as my weight on his awkwardly tied arms forces him into a painful position. Sorry, Danny, but I'd rather you have a couple of pulled muscles and some rope burns than burnt out eyes and whatever the hell that thing is doing to Professor Stevens.

After twenty, maybe thirty seconds the bright red glow through my eyelids fades and I risk opening an eye. Clear. No bright lights. Huh.

"Sir?"

I hear Carter's voice from further down the hall so I roll off Daniel and help him sit up. His arms are still tied to the remains of the back of his chair but otherwise he's not harmed. In fact, he's frowning.

"You ok?" I ask.

He shrugs, and then winces as he is reminded about his strained shoulders. "I'm fine."

"We're down here, Carter," I shout. "Are we secure?"

I hear running footsteps and then Carter appears from around a corner, unarmed but followed by a young British sergeant. Should have known she'd find a way to be in on our rescue - I'm going to be hearing about this for months. "General Hammond's overseeing the retrieval of a couple of men from the basement but otherwise we're secure, sir. Are you and Daniel all right?"

I look pointedly at Daniel's bound wrists. "We could use a knife here."

"Oh, of course sir."

She makes short work of the ropes and then Daniel's rubbing his wrists carefully while he rotates a shoulder. "Thanks Sam."

"What happened?" Carter asks.

"Not much. Just your average - yowch!" I cut off as that blinding white light pours out of the office again.

Looks like the Goa'uld toy wants to have the last word. I automatically close my eyes and turn my head, waiting for the light to fade again. "That is what happened."

"Is it dangerous?" Carter asks, and then winces at my expression. "Sorry, sir. It's the Goa'uld device?"

I nod. "Stevens stole something from some big museum-"

"The British Museum."

Thank you, Daniel. "-The British Museum and attached it to the amulet he lectured on yesterday. It's been fun."

"It must be on some kind . . . timed loop or something," Daniel says thoughtfully. "Unless we can shut it down it will just keep doing-"

Painful light again. This is getting tired real fast.

"That," Daniel finishes.

"Sweet."

Jeez, will he ever stop doing that? Rather than sitting here like a nice, quiet, slightly sore archaeologist while I work out how to turn the thing off, Daniel's jumping up and haring back to the office.

"Sir?" Carter looks at me questioningly.

No time to explain. I have a pretty good idea of what Daniel's doing, and if the growing light from the office is any indication he's going to have to work pretty damn fast. What have I let myself in for? I've just signed up for a lifetime of this. The stress alone is going to kill me. My hair will probably be white before Christmas.

I follow Daniel and Carter follows me. He's sitting half under the desk in the office, concentrating hard on the Goa'uld device. Tongue caught between teeth and slight frown on his face - it's Danny's thinking expression. Even as I watch, the light from the crystal is getting brighter.

There is no way I'm interrupting him right now to ask what the hell he thinks he's doing. I'll 'talk' to him about it on vacation. Instead I'm just going to watch him and hope to god he manages to take that amulet-rod thing apart in less than ten seconds. He won't have time for a second attempt.

The thing seems to be sticking. Daniel is twisting, pulling at it and muttering under his breath. There must be . . . I hear a faint 'snick' sound and then the rod parts from the amulet.

For a moment I hold my breath before the light in the crystal flickers and dies.

Black spots . . . oh, yeah, breathe now.

"Daniel?"

"Jack?"

"We ok now?"

He looks at the harmless-looking artefacts in his hands. "The General's going to need to find a good excuse for why we can't return this to the museum, but otherwise I think we're safe."

"Good." I lean heavily against the doorframe. "Let's go home, kids."

***

Daniel

Our hotel room seems different now. Less inviting. Less private.

We've been given half an hour to collect our belongings before we return to the SGC for debriefing. General Hammond doesn't think there's much point in us staying for the final day of the conference, and I have to admit that he's probably right. That's not going to stop Jack resenting the hell out of it, though. I think he was hoping we could skip the lectures tomorrow and go sightseeing around London but we'll be spending the day back in the mountain writing our reports instead.

I'm trying not to think about Professor Stevens. When I eventually get some rest I'll probably be hearing his scream in my dreams, but right now there isn't time to think it through. According to Sam, he had a breakdown ten years ago when his wife died and became obsessed with making a discovery he could dedicate to her memory. I can't help wondering whether, without Jack, the same thing might have happened to me. There's a family history of mental instability, after all. It's something I'm glad I've never had to find out.

We spoke to the desk clerk on our way in, reassuring him that although we're checking out at one thirty in the morning after disappearing from the conference it's no reflection on his hotel. Really. We're just strange that way. Or something.

Now I've finished packing and I'm standing next to my suitcase on the bed, but I'm not sure what to do next. Actually I know exactly what I want to do - I'm just not sure how. I want to go over to Jack's room and reassure myself that he's still there, that he still wants me. What is the accepted convention for getting your very male best friend and - gulp - new lover to kiss you?

Hands snake around my waist from behind and I jump. I feel warm lips against the nape of my neck and settle back into Jack's embrace. Question answered.

"Hello," he says softly, and the warm breath against my neck makes me shiver.

"H-hi." Trying to be casual here. I think I'm failing miserably. "Ready to go?"

"Not really."

Distracting kisses down my neck. More shivering. Not complaining though. "You want to stay here?" Uh, why?

The kisses pause. "No. I want to go straight to our vacation."

I turn in his arms and hug him as tightly as I can. Just being able to feel that warm body pressed against me, the hands rubbing my back, makes me feel right again. Jack hugs me just as firmly. Could he be feeling as insecure as I was?

After a long silence I pull back slightly, although I refuse to let go completely. He doesn't mind. In fact, unless I'm reading him completely wrong, he's pretty happy about our position.

"Thanks," I say.

"What for?"

Shrug. "I was trying to work out how to, uh, approach you and now . . . problem solved."

"Y'know, Daniel, I think we've got a lot to work out about this thing," Jack says, smiling to let me know we're ok.

"That's what I was thinking. What is the etiquette for initiating a kiss with . . . er, what are we?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, what are we? Calling you my boyfriend seems a little weird when you're-"

Kissing is a good way to shut me up. I think I'll have to encourage this.

"Don't say it," Jack warns when he pulls back.

"What? You're a little-"

"Daniel."

"Greyer than I am." I still owe him for the 'hissy fit' remark. "Calling you more mature would be a gross overstatement."

He decides that we can argue later about his putative maturity, instead leering at me. "You could call me your lover."

"Because I wouldn't feel at all ridiculous calling you that. And I wouldn't blush either, of course."

"Significant other."

"Sounds pretty . . . impersonal."

"Partner."

Still doesn't sound right.

"For crying out loud, you're wasting time worrying about technicalities?" Jack bursts out. "Daniel, we've got ten minutes before Carter arrives to escort us to the airport and, unless you want me kissing you in front of Hammond, we're going to use this time. You've got me captive in a cabin for a week - we can work out the technicalities on our vacation."

Hmm, kissing or talking. What a choice.

If there was any doubt about what my choice is, it's pretty much squashed when I pull Jack closer and return his kiss eagerly. Very eagerly. Edging beyond enthusiastic into, uh, passionate. And there are hands in places that feel *so* good. My hands, his hands . . . friction . . . heat . . .

Phew, getting out of breath here. Don't want to stop.

Is it possible to have sex while fully clothed and vertical? We're making a damn good attempt at it.

Knocking at the door. "Sir? Daniel? Are you ready yet?"

Sometimes Sam has terrible timing. Other times her timing just sucks. I love Sam but at the moment I could cheerfully kill her.

"Guess it's time to go, then," Jack mumbles - it's not easy to talk and kiss.

"Guess so."

"Do you think she'd give us another five minutes?"

I think about it, which is difficult when my brain is short-circuiting and my blood is going south for vacation two days early. "No. She'd just come in here and drag us out."

Jack immediately stiffens in my arms, and not in a good way, before raising his head to look at me with reproachful eyes. "Way to ruin the mood, Daniel."

"Daniel? Are you all right in there?"

"On my way!" I yell back, trying to pull out of Jack's embrace.

He is not cooperating here.

"We could just stay here. Order room service. Tell Hammond we've quit," Jack suggests hopefully.

"Ja-ack."

"Hey, it's a good plan. You, me, a bed - what more could a guy want?"

I glare at him and step back decisively. He steps with me. "You'd be bored in a month."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "You, me and a bed and you think I'd get bored?"

"Colonel? Are you ready yet? The longer we wait here, the longer we wait for our leave," Sam calls through the door.

Jack's face lights up. "You still on for that cabin with me?"

I nod, smiling at him.

"Cool."

He immediately releases me and grabs my suitcase. "I'm ready now. We have a whole week, just the two of us. Plenty of time to-"

"Talk."

"Have sex."

"Work through our issues."

"Have sex."

"Establish the boundaries of our relationship."

"Have sex."

"Argue about it all."

Jack takes my hand and begins to drag me towards the door. "Have make-up sex."

"Learn about each other."

"Have sex."

"You have got a one-track mind."

He leers at me, and grins. "You talk too much. We're even."

"Jack, in what strange universe does that make us-"

"Love you, Danny."

Oh. Huh. Why does he keep doing that to me? And I can't even say anything about it because he's opened the door and Sam looks like she's about to explode with impatience. She doesn't say anything, though, and just walks away. Jack's incredibly sneaky hands make a lightening attack on my ass and then he's following her.

"Can't keep the General waiting, Daniel. We've got a vacation to take."

What have I let myself in for?

*finis*

---

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