"You cut your hair."
It was a statement, not a question. And it was said quite sourly at that.
"Er, yeah."
"I don't like it."
Daniel ran a hand through his much shorter hair self-consciously. He'd just gotten it cut, tired with it being long. He thought it made him look like a girl. Which wasn't exactly a bad thing, Daniel amended mentally, but he had had longer hair than Sam, for crying out loud!
"Um…sorry?"
Jack rolled his eyes, making a disdainful sound in the back of his throat. He had liked Daniel's hair long—long enough to run his hands through the silky strands, long enough to be able to push it out of his friend's eyes as he slept, long enough to bury his nose in and smell the unique scent that was Daniel Jackson—
You are such a hopeless romantic, Colonel O'Neill, he chided himself. But that didn't change his feelings.
"Don't do it again."
Daniel smiled. "I, ah, don't think I will."
He wouldn't. Jack liked it long, so long it would be.
Jack stepped a bit closer, eyes dark with an emotion Daniel had never seen before. The colonel reached out and flicked his fingers through Daniel's bangs. "See that you don't."
Daniel, desperately hoping and at the same time hopelessly afraid, tried to lighten the sudden intense mood: "Is that an order, sir?"
Jack stepped back, the unnamed emotion shielded. "Whatever stirs your coffee," he said. Then he walked down the corridor. "Get some sleep, Danny!"
Whatever stirs my coffee…? the young archeologist asked himself. "You do," he whispered to the now-empty hall. You do, Jack.
Then he turned the other way and left.