Some random silliness, since I need a bit of silliness right now. Yes.

Title: The Asgard Connection
Category: Janet, Jack. Humour, gen
Rating, etc: G. 500 words.
Summary: Trust Jack to find it...
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.

A/N: Inspired by Havoc's post, helped along by thanatoskalos and jennetj.

--

"What?"

Janet suspected the question was rhetorical, but had long ago learned that repeating her medical opinion together with a pointed look increased the chances of it being adhered to. Especially when it came to her current patient.

"Physio, Sir." She exchanged a glance with the third member in their little gathering. Daniel returned her look with a sympathetic little half-smile.

"Yeah, I heard you first time, Doc." Colonel O'Neill twisted his upper body, manipulating his shoulder joint. "Isn't there anything you can give me that'll sort it out quicker? I know you, you won't clear me for the next mission if it's still twanging."

She shrugged. "Well, you'd better turn up to the appointments I'm making you then. I can give you a steroid shot to start you off, but then it's up to you. If you know me like you claim, you'll know that sticking a poker-face over the wincing won't fool me either. I can—"

"—smell a lie like a fart in a car. Yeah. Got it." He ignored her pained expression and hopped off the bed. "Daniel, let's get out of here."

"Wait." She held up her hand. "Stay there, I'll be back with the cortisone."

He gave a melodramatic sigh that had her grinning right up until she returned to find him squinting at his med chart.

"Sir…you're not supposed to look at that," she admonished, plucking it from his grasp.

"Eh, it's all illegible nonsense anyway," he dismissed, pulling his shirt collar back for the injection. "I mean, you make this up, right?"

"What do you think?" she said, cutting back on something more sardonic. "Please hold still, Colonel." The man was an incessant wriggle-bottom.

"I think I'd be fascinated to learn what the Asgard's got to do with my carpal tunnel," he said, a mildly triumphant glint in his eyes.

Not many people surprised her these days, but Jack O'Neill was evidently still one of them. She blinked at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What'd I tell you?" he ignored her, aiming his question over her head towards Daniel. "Making it up. 'Thor outlet syndrome'?"

Oh, that. She was relieved there was a sensible explanation for his seemingly sudden nose-dive into delusion. "It's an abbreviation, Sir. Thoracic. You don't have carpal tunnel, though it causes some of the same symptoms."

"Oh. Thor will be disappointed."

"Alright, we're done here," she said, dropping the needle in the sharps bin. "Unless you have more to add to this surreal conversation?"

The colonel tilted his head to the side and started to take a breath. Fortunately Daniel caught a glimpse of the dismay on her face and quickly steered his team mate towards the exit.

Janet thought nothing more of it until she woke herself up laughing the following night. Vestiges of her dream came back to her. A small grey figure with scrawny limbs had been trying to fit a three-pin plug into an outlet connected to O'Neill's shoulder.

The colonel had turned to her. "Ah, there you are. Fix this will you?"

She had looked down, then. In her hand had been an adaptor.