Notes: Based in the AU Jack Built universe; check out the jackbuilt livejournal community for full details.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing.
The man had the annoying habit of turning up unannounced.
Not that it was problematic for Jack, really, since he always kept the building in inspection-ready shape. But it was still annoying.
Of course, Harry had been annoying him for years, ever since he was the assistant coach of the rival Habs, back when the Aves were the Nordiques, and Jack had two good knees and a position on the starting line-up to his name. He probably should have felt more bitter being forced to think about it, but at least he got pushed out of hockey due to injury and age rather than his involvement in a shady insider gambling ring. Not that this had stopped Harry from continuing to live a lifestyle that many would envy. Really, how the ex-hockey coach cum bookie had managed to escape legal penalties and become an almost semi-respectable landowner was beyond Jack's imagination. Although he suspected his recent work maintaining the building had a lot to do with the respectable part.
Still, the fact was Harry had turned up unannounced to conduct an "inspection" and the last time Harry had turned up unannounced in his life Jack had found himself driving across the country to become the superintendent of a building populated by the sort of tenants he wouldn't have associated with even when he was the hotshot hockey star from backwoods Minnesota impressed with the big city lights, the French girls, and the readily available booze and cigarettes to be found in Quebec City. Not that he had ever been particularly impressed by Quebec City; for all its "old world charm" the folks there really didn't appreciate those who mangled French like he did. He was, however, impressed by their poutine.
But Harry was here, and Harry wanted to conduct an inspection ("What? You think I could have made it worse?" Jack had asked him upon Maybourne's arrival), and that meant that Jack got to spend the rest of his day pulling Harry around from one part of the building to the next instead of convincing Sam that doing their own inspection of the fourth floor storage closet was significantly more important than her finishing whatever the hell kinda paper she was writing about Nintendos and quarks and whatever other quirky things she had started rambling about while he was distracted by her neck. And yes, he did know that "significantly" had a very specific meaning for those scientist-types, but as far as he was concerned, making out in a storage closet with Sam was a "significant" kinda event.
Not that there were going to be significant events of any nature while Harry was still around. So that had led to his current game-plan: in and out as fast as you can, with lots of hard forechecking. Really, it was too bad he couldn't just ditch Harry altogether, but that would mean Maybourne would be wandering around his apartment building unattended, and that was too scary a thought to contemplate. And, well, if it wasn't for Harry, Jack would still be sitting on his arse contemplating buying a dog and moving someplace where there's a need for a full-time zamboni driver. (It had been a childhood dream of his, before he realized he could actually play hockey well enough to make it into a career. Still, driving a zamboni would be pretty sweet – maybe he'd see if the local rink needed a weekend volunteer.)
So Jack had been dragging Harry around from floor to floor, pointing out the new paint and windows and plumbing and floorboards and cleanliness. He also made sure that Harry met a few of his tenants, just so Maybourne would get the full scope of the changes he'd made. His building may not be in the best part of town, but it wasn't another den full of slimy dealers and pot-heads, no siree! And now, finally, finally, Jack was beginning to see the end approaching as they headed down one last flight of stairs to the basement with its newly finished work-out area and the furnace room.
Maybourne seemed duly impressed by the work-out area and steam room, although the glare Jack sent him didn't quite take care of any ideas he had about trying out the latter. The man wouldn't take a hint as he stood there admiring the calming tiles T. had procured.
"Jack, I think you may be the luckiest superintendent this side of the Atlantic," Harry had said, hands in his pockets as he carefully inspected the benches Teyla's brother had made to fit in the small room.
And while Jack knew better, with Harry he just never could seem to help himself, so he asked, "What?"
"Ja-ack! Really," Harry paused to give his super a knowing look, "You have a steam room that is frequented by college-age girls! That's the sort of thing you could make a fortune on, selling videos of it."
"Harry," was all it took, growled warningly by Jack to make the man hastily back-pedal.
"I'm just saying, Jack. And it doesn't seem to me that all your tenants would mind. I mean, there was that one chick who answered the door in nothing but a –"
"Yes, Harry, Vala's known for her unique fashion sense," Jack's gruff tone cut him off, "And don't think I didn't see you take a look – you dog."
Maybourne glanced over at the taller man, "What, I'm not allowed to notice a hot woman anymore?"
O'Neill shuddered as he walked out of the steam room pointedly holding open the door. "That is just wrong on so many levels," he muttered, before continuing more loudly, "This way, Harry," gesturing in the direction of the furnace room. Maybourne complied, letting Jack shut the door firmly behind him, but not before Jack noticed the man casting one more speculative look at the steam room. Jack shrugged off his lingering feelings of disgust by focusing on the furnace room – the last stop before he could show Maybourne out of the building, and (hopefully) his life, at least for a few more years.
Maybourne let out a short whistle as he looked around the furnace room, taking in its clean surfaces and well-maintained fixtures. It was certainly a change from when he last saw it, with a rusting oil furnace, dust, rags, and stains all over the concrete floor. It was still a confining space, and while some of the pipes looked like they could use replacing, it was a vast improvement from the grimy hole it had been. Jack watched closely as Maybourne peered at the main supply duct, restraining himself as the man reached out to touch it. "Jack," came the inquiring tone, "Did you know that practically this entire duct is covered with duct tape?"
O'Neill sighed. "Yeah, Harry, I know. There were a few holes and one of the tenants, Felger, volunteered to help me out." Jack waved his hands at the duct, "I swear, I just went upstairs to get another cloth and some coffee and I came back down and the geek had wrapped the entire thing in duct tape! And all he would tell me before he ran off was that it's the handyman's secret weapon and that I should at least find him handy!" He snorted, "Find him annoying is more like it. Did you know that he and Rodney play with dolls?"
Maybourne threw a skeptical look over his shoulder, "Fascinating, I'm sure, Jack. Well," he concluded, spinning away from the furnace, "Looks like everything's in order here."
Later Jack would look back at those words and find them vaguely prophetic, in a Murphy's Law-esque fashion. Because, of course, the instant Maybourne seemed satisfied and was about to get out of his hair (thereby enabling Jack to seek out Sam and a nice corner in a storage closet) something had to go wrong. In this case, the lights went out.
"Oh, fer cryin' out loud, not again!" If it wasn't for Maybourne's lingering presence Jack really wouldn't have been all that annoyed. After all, he was already in the basement and he had kinda gotten used to the periodic blowing of fuses. He may not like it (unless Sam was down there with him, too), but he'd gotten used to it.
Maybourne's eyebrows rose at the exasperation and resignation in Jack's voice. If he didn't know any better… "Jack?"
"Harry?" The gruff inquiry came, slightly muffled, from a far corner of the room, followed by a series of vaguely metallic noises, and the return of light.
"Does this happen often, Jack?"
A grunt, as the man ambled back towards him, hands plunged deep in his pockets. "Not often enough for you to be concerned about it, Harry."
"But I am concerned, Jack. Very concerned." Maybourne's voice was full of smarmy solicitude, "I mean, really, Jack, what if one of your tenants was to report the frequent loss of power to the city's inspection board? I wouldn't want things to get - difficult for you."
A sharp glare followed by a frustrated sigh revealed that Jack O'Neill got the message. "Of course you wouldn't, Harry. Speaking of difficult, I've got a difficult to procure bottle of 30-year old single malt whiskey that's yet to be opened. Care to try it?"
"Why, Jack!" Maybourne's glee was unmistakable, "I thought you'd never ask!"