Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Stargate SG-1 or any of its characters . . . any and all rumors to the contrary are not to be believed.

Warning! May contain episode plot spoilers for Season 8's Threads.

Genre: Friendship/Humor

Author's Note: This piece is a prime example of why Jack and Daniel should never be left alone. I have no excuse for it, I really don't. It popped into my head a few weeks ago and proceeded to grow and grow and grow as I put it on paper. It's purpose (if you can call it that) is mainly to amuse. Hopefully it can bring a smile to someone's day or maybe even a chuckle. Enjoy!

It had been all of around three hours since Daniel Jackson's rather spectacular arrival in O'Neill's office. Relatively speaking, a lot had transpired during that time - initial debriefings, physical health and wellness exams, acquisition of proper attire, and an assortment of other miscellaneous what-have-you's. As a result of all this activity, a fresh stack of paperwork now decorated the General's desk. With his head in one hand and a pen in the other, Jack gave the aforementioned mound a hostile look. He hated paperwork. The delightful image of a giant alien fireball descending to consume every shred of paper in Cheyenne Mountain brought a brief smile to his face. Even as he indulged in this fantasy, however, a certain Sergeant appeared with yet another folder.

"Come in, Walter," O'Neill muttered. "But only if that's not what I think it is."

Harriman's eyes followed the trajectory of his Commander's now raised index finger with a frown. "It's a file, Sir."

"I know that," Jack replied as though it were obvious - which of course it was - and rolled his eyes. "Just tell me that that file isn't for me."

Walter swallowed hard, trying to bury a smile. Never had he heard the word 'file' uttered with such disdain. Apparently in the dictionary of General Jack O'Neill the seemingly innocuous noun had become a dirty word.

"Well, Sergeant?"

"Oh right, Sir . . . uh, it's not for you."

Jack's visage brightened at these words, but upon seeing Harriman chewing the inside of one cheek, his joy faded. "Walter?"

"Yes Sir?"

"Put it on the desk."

"Yes Sir."

Crushed and dejected, O'Neill felt his shoulders fall. In an attempt to sound severe, he then lashed out at the Sergeant. "And don't let me catch you lying to a superior officer again . . . no matter what I tell you."

"Yes Sir." With that and a sympathetic nod, Walter retreated from sight.

Alone once more, the General heaved a sigh and allowed his imagined anti-paper campaign to resume. All the military reports were just succumbing to an exploding mountain of paper eating lava when a familiar voice interrupted.

"Jack?"

Glancing up with a mysteriously guilty expression, O'Neill cleared his throat. "Daniel."

"Gotta' minute?"

"Nope," Jack replied flatly. A shrug accented by a wry smile soon followed this statement, however, and he motioned for the archaeologist to enter.

Acknowledging this 'welcome' of sorts, Daniel moved into the office. His steps were heavy and upon reaching the nearest chair he promptly sank into an exhausted heap.

"Tired?"

Jackson grunted, rubbing both hands over his face. "Oh yeah."

"So I take it the whole 'I'll sleep when I'm dead' thing is just . . ."

"A mass misconception propagated throughout earth's culture by its transformation into an excusatory cliche. Who ever coined that idiotic phrase obviously never tried it."

"Not really workin' out for you, huh?"

"You can say that again," Daniel grumbled. When he heard O'Neill's mouth open almost immediately, though, he raised a hand. "Rhetorical, Jack. That was rhetorical."

The General struck an I'm-pretending-to-know-what-you-know-I'm-pretending-not-to-know look and furrowed his brow. "Right. I knew that." This attempt at ignorance, succeeded in earning Jack a lopsided smirk as well as a long suffering sigh. Returning these expressions in kind, the General suddenly stood and circled the desk. Propping himself on an available corner, he then folded his arms. "So, the whole not sleeping thing . . . is that why you didn't stay . . . out there?"

"Huh?"

Seeing Jackson's apparent bewilderment, the General tried to clarify. "Well, I guess I kinda' figured that if the 'others' ever gave you another shot at that higher existence plane -"

"Higher plane of existence."

"Whatever," Jack dismissed flippantly. "I just thought that given the chance you'd have chosen to try the whole ascended mess again. I know how excited you were about it the first time. Enlightenment and all that."

Daniel's eyes wandered to a nondescript point in the middle distance as he fell to considering these words. There was an element of truth in what his friend said - to begin with he had definitely been intrigued, if not exactly 'excited' about the idea of ascension. To him, the prospect of learning so much had been more or less intoxicating, but in the end . . .

Swallowing for no apparent reason, Daniel at last murmured a reply. "I thought about it."

"But?"

"But . . ." Jackson parroted, refocusing his attention on the General. "I've learned that there's a lot to be said for just being human."

A soft, almost relieved smile spread across O'Neill's face. "Good. Glad to hear it."

"What? You were worried?"

"Not . . . exactly," Jack corrected a little too quickly. "It's just I wouldn't - didn't - believe you were dead, but when you kept not coming back, well . . . what was I supposed to think? I mean I knew you were somewhere," the General insisted, his tone filled with agitation. "But I didn't know where, so yeah I guess I was . . . concerned. Bothered. Annoyed."

"Nice to know I was missed," Daniel returned in mock irritation.

"Yes, well -" Stopping short, Jack found himself suddenly distracted by an object in the archaeologist's hand. It had been there throughout their conversation, of course, but until now it's presence had gone unnoticed. "What is that?"

Caught off guard by this sudden change of topic, it took Daniel a minute to determine exactly what the General was talking about. When his eyes at last landed upon the possible object of interest, however, he wasted no time in responding. "What - this?"

"That."

"Oh, this is my written report covering the whole kidnapping, murder, ascending and descending thing. I just finished it for you." Offering a half-smile, Jackson held up the thick wad of forms for O'Neill's approval.

The General's eyebrows arched, reaching for his hairline and his lips formed a mirthless smile. "Been busy have you?"

"Oh yes. Never a dull moment. How about you?"

The unmistakable sound of sliding papers answered this question and Jack winced. Even without turning around, he knew precisely what fate had befallen his leaning tower of folders. A strangled sort of noise coming from Daniel's throat soon verified this diagnosis and Jack adjusted his posture to better hide the untidy desk. Plastering a smile on his lips, he then canted his head to one side. "So, been busy have you?"

Jackson uttered a soft laugh, but graciously avoided repeating his earlier question. Instead, he pointed towards his personal report and continued. "Hope it's alright. Let me know if you need anything else." After receiving only a weak nod of appreciation for his efforts, Daniel stood. "Well, I can see you're swamped so I guess I'll just . . . go."

"Go?" O'Neill echoed his face a mass of disappointment. "That's it? That's all you wanted?"

"Well . . ."

"And here I thought you dropped in to see me just for the heck of it."

Daniel offered an apologetic shrug and opened his mouth to explain. Before the words on his tongue could be spoken, though, the General stopped him.

"Ack! No excuses . . . everyone else has brought me nothing but papers today. Why should you be any different? Just paper, paper and more paper. My office is turning into a forest! Millions of trees everywhere are sacrificing themselves just so they can come and clutter up my desk!" Muttering these last comments to no one in particular, Jack rose sharply to his feet. He then placed two firm hands on the archaeologist's shoulders. "Now, sit down."

Amused, though somewhat puzzled by his friend's antics, Jackson obediently resumed his seat. "Alright, I'm sitting. Now what?"

"We need to talk."

"Okay . . ." Daniel replied drawing out the syllables. "About what?"

Grinning in true Cheshire cat fashion, O'Neill again settled himself on a desk corner. "We need to talk about all . . . this." A vaguely encompassing hand gesture accompanied this statement along with an expectant look.

Hoping for a bit more specificity, Daniel hesitated. When nothing seemed forthcoming, however, he finally decided to drop a hint. "All of what, Jack?"

"You know . . ."

Daniel's eyes roved randomly about, as they so often did when challenged by O'Neill logic, and he searched for a proper reply. "No, actually I don't."

"You don't?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Jack!"

"Daniel?"

Emitting a low groan Daniel shook his head in frustration. "Jack, look - I know I didn't lose my memory this time and I know that to you all of this probably makes perfect sense, but I still can't help thinking that this conversation is missing something."

An innocent expression spirited across the General's face. "Like what?"

"A subject?"

Jack ducked his head and began to chuckle. Man, he'd missed Daniel! The kid was exasperating, idealistic, over eager, and entirely too enthusiastic about rocks, but he'd missed him. When together, they argued incessantly, disagreed on most things and seemed to go out of their way to annoy each other, but still he'd missed him. As the General mulled over this almost inconceivable fact, his eyes filled with affection. Darn that lovable geek! Exactly when had he allowed Daniel to worm such a large place in his heart anyway?

"Jack?"

"Right," O'Neill snapped, jerking himself back to the present. "The subject." Leaping from the desk with index finger held high, he then proceeded in a dramatic tone. "Daniel, you've got to stop doing it."

"It?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Jackson responded. "I'll bite, what is 'it'?"

This question instantly dispelled the General's pretense of grandeur and he seemed to grow desperate. "All this dying and coming back and dying and coming back. Daniel, I feel like a yo-yo! I mean if you're not going to do the ascended thing again, the least you could do is stay alive like everyone else."

Daniel's mouth opened, closed into a tight 'O' and then opened again. On his forehead, several strands of wrinkles appeared to accent these movements and his head tilted to one side. "But, Jack," he fumbled in amazement. "I don't try to die, it just . . . happens."

"Well, maybe instead of just not trying to die, maybe you should work on trying not to die." O'Neill's brow furrowed with confusion as he listened to his own words. After brief consideration, his eyebrows rippled slightly and he seemed to grow more baffled. The sentence certainly hadn't sounded that nonsensical when he'd thought of it. Deciding that any attempt to rephrase his comments would be futile, however, Jack merely shook his head. "Oh, you know what I mean."

Unconvinced, Daniel rehearsed his friend's words over and over in his mind, willing something reasonable to emerge. Eventually, after achieving a minor amount of success, the archaeologist began to smile. "I know what you mean, Jack - I think. I'll try to do better."

Jack grunted with satisfaction. "Yes, well see that you do. You have no idea how much havoc this death stuff reeks on my usually organized yet chaotic life. In case you were wondering, the Air Force has a form for everything from ordering bunting to disposing of sauerkraut, but they do not have a single form covering dead personnel coming back to life. Do you have any idea how hard that makes having you declared alive again?" Receiving a negative shake of the head, Jack continued. "Of course you don't. But I do. Look at my desk . . . just look at it. That is all your fault!"

Hearing the unmistakable whine in his friend's voice, the archaeologist fought the urge to grin. A small smile leaked out in spite of his best effort, though, and his tired eyes betrayed amusement.

"Daniel," O'Neill warned, his voice rising in pitch. "This isn't funny."

"Oh c'mon, Jack," the accused replied defensively. "I couldn't be responsible for all of that."

"Ha! That's what you think." Retracing the path around his desk, O'Neill then thrust a hand into the fallen pile of paperwork. Pulling out several folders indiscriminately, he opened the first one and scanned its contents. "Here's Carter's initial report stating that you vanished during a battle with the Replicators." Discarding this file with little care, Jack then flipped a thumb through the next. "This is Dr. Brightman's report stating that you are the healthiest recently dead person she's ever seen." Allowing this folder to meet a similar fate as the first, he moved on to another. "This is my report declaring you missing in action . . . My report advising of your death . . . and my report declaring you un-missing, un-dead, un-ascended . . . " As he rambled, Jack rolled one hand in front of him in an 'etcetera, etcetera' sort of fashion. Ending this motion with a massive eye roll, he then pressed on. "And this - this is my detailed report of your spectacular reappearance in my office."

A deep shade of red crept along Daniel's neck at this comment and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Choosing to ignore the archaeologist's show of embarrassment, O'Neill laid his reports aside and plunged into yet another stack of papers. "And here," he announced, "Is Siler's report explaining that sudden, irresistible urge he had to launder the SGC flag and here . . ."

An embarrassed moan interrupted this next comment and Daniel sank a fraction lower in his seat. "Alright, alright, Jack. You've made your point."

Squaring his shoulders in a triumphant fashion, O'Neill laid down his armload of folders. "Good. I wanted you to understand the sheer magnitude of this situation because, so help me, if you ever die again I'm gonna make you do all this paperwork by yourself, in triplicate, the moment you get back. No trip to the infirmary, no slice of get-well-glad-to-have-you-back cake, nothing until every scrap is done. Got it?"

As he listened to the General's threats, Daniel began to smile inwardly. He knew that the gruff tone and off-the-wall humor was just O'Neill's way of showing that he cared. It was sort of a backhanded display of affection, but after the emotional detachment Jackson had encountered with the 'others' he wasn't about to complain. Besides, when it came to the General, he was used to such behavior. In a way, he even found it oddly endearing.

"Earth to Dr. Jackson . . . Daniel did you hear anything I said?"

"Oh, yes Jack," the archaeologist answered smartly. "Every threat. Honest."

O'Neill considered the supposedly penitent man with a suspicious eye. "You sure?"

"Yes, Jack."

Though he still looked doubtful, O'Neill accepted this answer and stood to his feet. "So, you're not gonna die on me anymore right?"

"I'll do my best."

"Ah - none of that. I want your solemn word. Promise me, no more dying."

Daniel hesitated at this irrational request and met his friend's eyes. The deep brown stare he found awaiting him was surprisingly serious and filled with an almost childlike hope. Turning away, the archaeologist at last murmured a soft reply. "It's not that simple, Jack. You know that."

Bristling at this undeniably true statement, O'Neill still refused to yield. Right now the truth was quite simply not something he wanted to discuss. Thus decided, he lifted up a stack of papers and held them in a threatening manner. "Promise me . . ."

The sight and sound of this second warning was enough to bring a smile to Daniel's face. "Okay, I promise. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic!" Jack beamed. "Just what I wanted to hear."

Still wearing a smile, Daniel pushed out of his chair. Stuffing both hands in his pockets, he then rocked up and down on his heels. "So . . ."

Attentively, Jack cocked his head to one side and waited. When the archaeologist seemed at a loss to know what to say next, however, he promptly came to the rescue. "Hungry?"

"Starving. You?"

"Famished."

"Sam and Teal'c are in the locker room."

Though these words were offered as a rather random statement of fact, there seemed to be an unspoken suggestion lurking just beneath their surface. O'Neill latched onto this subtle turn of mind instantly and clapped both hands together. "Excellent. We'll make it a Team night then - my place?"

Anticipation immediately lit Jackson's face. "Chinese take out?"

"And pie," the General added, a hint of longing in his voice. "That is if you're not too tired."

"Hey, I've got to eat . . . might as well do it with friends. Of course I may end up crashing on your couch after a while."

"So what else is new," O'Neill replied lightly. "C'mon, let's go."

As he watched the General practically skip towards the door, Daniel felt a sudden pang of guilt. "Ah, Jack, I hate to bring this up, but what about all this paperwork? Maybe I should stay and help you finish before we go."

O'Neill paused, his appearance grave, and seemed to consider this option for a second. At length, his eyebrows rose. "I'd rather eat pie."

The corners of the Daniel's mouth tugged into a grin. "You would," he snorted. "But seriously, Jack, don't you think we should . . ."

"Daniel," O'Neill objected. "Forget it - and that's an order."

After sparing a final, side-long glance for the now puddled folders, Jackson allowed himself to be propelled into the hallway. A moment later, the office door snapped shut.

As the pair then turned towards the elevator, Jack's sarcastic voice could be heard echoing through the barren halls.

"Besides, I've got to have something to look forward to in the morning, don't I?"

The End

Well there it is. Like I said, I have no excuse. Reviews absolutely make my day so if you feel so inclined please drop me a line. Any comments, suggestions and or constructive criticism are always welcome.

Thanks for reading!