Warning! Contains episode plot spoilers for Season 4's 'Small Victories'. Reference is also made to Season 1's 'Solitudes'.

Disclaimer: I would like to take this opportunity to unequivocally state that I do not own Stargate SG-1 or any of its characters.

In particular, there is a section of this story that is written in italics. This is a flashback to an actual scene in the episode 'Small Victories'. The dialogue contained therein (minus a small word substitution) is a direct transcript from the show. I take no credit for it, no infringement is intended, no money is to be made, etc.

Author's Note: For the purposes of this tag scene I am assuming that when Thor beamed O'Neill, Carter and Teal'c back to Earth at the end of 'Small Victories', he sent them back to the harbor warehouse where Daniel was. I am also assuming that all SGC personnel had to be 'put up' for the night by the local military base so that they could oversee the clean-up and recovery process following the sub's destruction. Hopefully neither of these assumptions are too outlandish. They seemed to make pretty good sense and they also made my muse pretty happy so . . .

Also, K'MI.974, this multi-chapter tag is for you. You kindly hinted in a PM that you would like to see another episode tag from me, so when my inspiration decided to strike with this one I thought of you. Then of course I learned that 'Nemesis' / 'Small Victories' was one of your favorites and I just got so excited! I know it's not much, but I hope you'll enjoy it. As for the longer story and possible S/D friendship piece you suggested, I'm still working on those. Nothing definite at the moment, but any day now . . . Thanks again for all of your in put and support!

Time frame: Several hours after the Russian sub has been destroyed

Place: Puget Sound Navel Base (Please note: the location where the Replicator invested Russian submarine was being contained was not mentioned during the episode. During the initial briefing, however, Major Davis mentions that the sub was spotted by an aircraft off of the USS Nimitz. I did a little research and found that the Nimitz was based at Puget Sound during the time frame of this episode so I went with that.)

Genre: Predominately Friendship / Humor / but there is a sizable dose of Hurt/Comfort/Angst in the beginning

XXXXXXX

"Prepare to go ahead and blow this thing."

Daniel's adrenaline began to rush. "That's not exactly a positive attitude Jack."

"Listen to me. We are not gettin' out of here. Mission accomplished. Blow it!"

The report of gunshots echoed through Daniel's earpiece and the mechanical creak of approaching Replicators increased. "Jack!"

"Daniel please! . . . Before I get eaten alive by these . . . dang bugs! Davis, give the order!"

Blips of static made portions of this transmission unintelligible, but the intended message was all too clear. The realization that his friends were not going to survive, caused Daniel's breathing to grow labored, while conversely his heart seemed to stop altogether. Helplessly he watched as they fell to their knees - fighting what he knew was an un-winnable battle. A wave of denial swept through him at the sight and his head shook from side to side, rejecting reality. This could not be happening. Unconsciously, Daniel switched his body to autopilot as everything around him began to blur. A voice muttering the words 'okay, okay', registered dully in his mind and for a second he wondered who had spoken. Had it been him? No, that couldn't be right. Whoever had spoken those simple words was the one responsible for ordering the death of his friends - the one responsible for giving up on them. He would never do that . . . he couldn't. He couldn't.

"Fire on target."

The sentence stung Daniel's heart, yet somehow he felt completely numb. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

"Dallas is firing torpedoes. Eight seconds to impact."

In that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything ground to a halt and the only thought Daniel could process was 'No'. No, no, no. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

"Blackbird attempting evasive maneuver. Torpedoes still on target. Two seconds."

All of a sudden, the world started moving again - much faster than was naturally possible. It plunged ahead, hurtling his friends toward certain, inescapable death. Once more, Daniel's mind screamed in protest. No, no, no. But then, it was all over.

"Direct hit."

The phrase struck Daniel harder than any physical blow. It reverberated over and over through his very soul, growing louder and more painful with each repetition. The sound was deafening, the sensation overwhelming. Then, above it all, he heard his friend's earlier plea resounding again and again . . .

"Daniel, please! . . . Daniel, please! . . . Daniel -"

With a start, Daniel Jackson's eyes flew open. Darkness greeted his wide blue orbs and he struggled to get his bearings. After a few moments, however, the solid black mass that was his surroundings began to melt into distinguishable shapes. A dim, ambient light filtering in around a closed door aided this transformation and soon the various elements fell into place. There was a wall, a corner, a ceiling - all very grey and all very empty. This was Puget Sound Naval Base, temporary guest quarters section.

Thus drawn from his world of dreams, Daniel allowed his tense body to collapse in exhaustion, not to mention exasperation. This was the fourth time tonight he'd been awakened by the same awful nightmare. At least he thought it was the fourth . . . judging by the way he felt right now, though, it could very well have been the tenth. With distaste, the archaeologist noted that his t-shirt was wet with sweat - again - and his breath was coming in heavy gasps. Nightmare induced panic followed by utter disorientation was definitely not one of his favorite combinations. Throwing an arm over his face, he tried to muffle a groan of frustration. Man he hated this.

After laying in this position for an indeterminate amount of time, Daniel heaved another sigh and uncovered his face. Struck by an almost irresistible urge, he then rolled to the edge of the upper bunk he currently occupied. Peering down, he searched the bed below for a glimpse of his only roommate. As the sight of one peacefully sleeping Jack O'Neill appeared, a surge of relief pulsed through him. Despite knowing that the nightmare had been just that - a nightmare - somehow seeing his friend alive and in one piece, still managed to bring Daniel comfort. A weary smile worked onto his lips the longer he stared and after a few moments his head began to sag. Allowing his eyes to drift shut, the archaeologist reluctantly rolled back into his bunk.

More than anything, Daniel wanted to sleep. The emotional roller coaster he'd been riding, both real and imagined, had left him well and truly drained. But while the desire for rest was strong, the dread of waking to a fifth repeat nightmare was stronger. This being the case, Jackson irrationally decided to stay awake for the duration of the night. Of course this decision, in turn, left him to ponder just what exactly he was going to do for the next few hours. There was studying the ceiling of course - that was always fun, in a dull, uninspiring sort of way; and on the off chance he got bored with this activity he could always try scrutinizing the room's four blank walls instead. Staggered by the immensity of these prospects, Daniel filled his cheeks with air and blew out a slow, heavy breath. This was going to be a long night.

Almost an hour later, the diligent archaeologist had succeeded in discovering three cracks, a nail and a spider along the planes available for his perusal. Of these, the meandering arachnid had probably been his most exciting find. He wasn't particularly 'into' spidery things given their recent brush with the Replicators, but the tiny creature's wanderings had proven to be most entertaining - or at least most distracting. When the spider's travels had finally carried it under the door and out of sight, though, Daniel was again left with nothing to do. It was then that his boredom rose to such an acute level that he could no longer resist the pull of sleep . . .

The echo of Jack calling his name ripped through Daniel's consciousness once more and he sat bolt upright in bed. The nightmare had been even more intense this time and the waves of panic assaulted him with force.

Driven by instinct, Daniel rushed to the edge of his bunk and searched the area below for his friend. When his eyes landed upon their appointed target, however, instead of feeling reassured, he found himself choking on a huge gulp of air. For there, waiting for him, was the most startling and outrageous funny face Daniel had ever had the misfortune to see. Every feature was contorted in a wild fashion with the aid of several fingers and the tongue, which was curled into a 'U', sat protruding from the man's mouth at an odd angle.

"Gah, Jack!" he protested, recoiling from the sight. "Don't do that!"

With a soft chuckle, O'Neill obligingly allowed his face to return to normal. "What was that, Daniel?"

"Ah!" the archaeologist humphed flopping onto his back. "What . . . I mean, just . . . Why?"

Noting the incredulous tone of his friend's voice, the Colonel bit down a laugh. Then, still struggling to contain his amusement, he innocently began to explain. "Well, I've lost track of how many times you've dropped down to stare at me tonight. I just thought I'd give you something interesting to think about."

An exaggerated grunt crossed with a chuckle answered this remark. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Jack returned happily, playing into his friend's sarcasm. "Glad to help." A short silence followed this exchange and when the Colonel finally spoke again, his light tone seemed to have subsided a little. "Trouble sleepin'?"

Caught off guard by this loaded question, Daniel hesitated. "Um . . . yes actually, now that you mention it. You?"

O'Neill scrunched his eyelids and brow into a tight knot. Ack! There it was. He'd impulsively opened this 'can of worms' and now here it was being thrown right back in his lap. Jack felt like smacking himself in the forehead. Why do I ask these questions? Mentally berating his lack of impulse control for several more seconds - just for good measure - the Colonel then launched a half-hearted reply. "Nah," he shrugged. "I'm sound asleep."

Identifying this classic O'Neill evasion tactic, Daniel hummed knowingly. "That good, huh?" Stillness answered this observation and the archaeologist exhaled a long-suffering breath. "Try counting sheep."

Jack scowled, his eyes shooting daggers through the upper bunk. "I already did," he muttered grudgingly.

"You did?"

"Oh yeah, it was great," he declared with false enthusiasm. "I counted and counted and counted. I couldn't stop. I'd close my eyes and there they were - jumping." Jack bounced his hand up and down by way of illustration and knit his brow. "Hundreds of them. Then I fell asleep and there they were! Daniel, I swear I've never seen so many dang sheep in all my life. They were everywhere!" The soft sound of laughter drifting down from above caused the crease along Jack's forehead to deepen. "Hey, I'm serious!" he whined, jabbing a finger into his friend's mattress for emphasis. "There were thousands of them . . . with metal blocks for wool and joints that creaked."

Daniel, who had found himself grinning at the child-like animation of the Colonel's narrative, suddenly grew serious. His eyebrows drew into a tight wad and he leaned over the edge of his bunk. "They were Replicators?"

O'Neill brandished an inscrutable look. "And you thought the bugs were bad."

Casting his eyes upward, as though trying to visualize this a scenario in his mind, Jackson remained frozen for several seconds. An unmistakable glint of doubt then appeared and he shifted his attention back to the Colonel. "Replicator sheep?"

Jack chewed the inside of his cheek at the brazenly skeptical tone of this question. Obviously the geek knew him much too well. Resisting the urge to smile, however, O'Neill schooled his features and executed a dramatic shudder. "Frightening."

A grin spread across Daniel's face at this assertion and he began to laugh.

Though inwardly pleased that his foolishness could make the troubled archaeologist smile, Jack made a show of protesting. "Daniel!" he complained dragging out the syllables. "I came this close to being trampled by a bunch of fluffy, jumping, metal blocks and all you can do is hang there snickering?" When this elicited even more laughter, O'Neill frowned in consternation. "Some friend you are," he grumbled petulantly.

"I'm sorry, Jack," Daniel managed between gasps, falling back on his cot. "It just struck me funny."

"I'll strike you funny in a minute if you don't stop," the Colonel countered. At this gruff retort, the unrestrained guffaws slowly transitioned into a more controlled strain of giggles and snorts. Still not satisfied, Jack fired one last threat. "Don't make me come up there."

The sleep deprived archaeologist predictably found this comment humorous and began choking on new laughter. Wrapping both arms around himself, Daniel cradled his now aching sides. "Don't make me laugh," he wheezed, ". . . my appendectomy."

Jack winced at the reminder and silently cursed his lack of judgement yet again. His 'mother hen' instinct then kicked in and he toyed with the idea of offering his friend some pain killers or even a trip to the infirmary. Either of these would have been an overreaction, he knew, but Daniel's attack of appendicitis had been serious - more serious than O'Neill cared to remember - and it had left him on edge. Every time he saw the younger man grimace or even heard his breath hitch the Colonel was struck by a twinge of panic. Shaking away these irrational fears, Jack struggled to keep his tone flippant. "Serves you right, ya' mocker."

Still grinning, Daniel eased out a slow, even breath. Painful incision not withstanding, this was the first time in hours - no, make that days - he honestly felt relaxed and at rest.

For almost fifteen minutes, no more words were spoken. The silence was comfortable - Jackson content to simply revel in the peace of the moment and O'Neill content to let him. Eventually, however, the Colonel moved to break the quiet. Sliding one hand along the wall, he sent his fingers in search of the light switch. When they connected with the desired power source, he flipped it upwards.

"Ah!" Daniel objected raising a hand to block the sudden glare. "Jack!"

"Yes, Daniel."

"Wha- . . . what?" stammering, the archaeologist motioned vaguely toward the offending light with his free arm.

"What 'what', Daniel? It's a light."

"I know that, but -"

"I'm hungry," Jack interrupted as though it were perfectly logical.

"And you're blinding me for this because . . .?"

"Because you're hungry, too."

"I am?"

"Of course you are, now c'mon."

"But -"

"No buts. You said you couldn't sleep, right?"

"Yeah . . ."

"Well, then you must be hungry - only reason in the world for not sleeping." As he spoke, the Colonel hauled himself out of bed and propped both elbows on the upper bunk.

"Jack," Daniel laughed, still shielding his eyes. "We're buried in the middle of a Naval Base, where are we gonna go?"

Prying away the archaeologist's arm in an effort to force some kind of visual contact, O'Neill then waggled his eyebrows mischievously. "The commissary."

Jackson squinted at his friend, threw his eyes off to one side deep in thought and pursed his lips. The intelligent, albeit sleepy blue orbs, then rolled back to the Colonel. "It's closed."

"And? Your point is?"

"Jack -"

"Daniel, haven't you ever heard that where there is a commissary there is a kitchen?"

"No," Jackson replied drawing out the word. "But I've had my suspicions."

"Well now see - there you go."

"But Jack -"

"Daniel!"

"They're closed!"

"Ah!" Throwing both hands up with an air of finality, Jack brought a temporary end to his friend's protests. "Fer cryin' out loud, I'm not talking about robbing a bank here - it's just the ice box. Besides, the Base Commander said, and I quote, 'my base is your base - make yourselves at home'," O'Neill mimicked, his head bobbing with impatience.

"Jack, I don't think -"

"Ack! You. Out of bed. Now," he commanded pulling away Daniel's covers. This act immediately revealed the man's wet t-shirt and Jack couldn't help but flinch. Traumatic nightmares came in many different forms, but their symptoms were almost always the same. The one that had caused this must have been quite something.

Daniel sensed the Colonel's train of thought almost instantly and was stung by a rush of embarrassment. Jack had seen him after nightmares before, of course, but somehow he still felt humiliated. Suddenly the urge to turn away or to go crawl into an invisible hole somewhere seemed very appealing. But the dark brown eyes of his friend held him solidly in place, demanding his attention. Unable to escape, Daniel at last lifted his face to return the steady gaze.

As their eyes connected, the two men began to communicate. Without speaking, Jack offered words of understanding and support. In return, Daniel conveyed words of gratitude along with an unneeded apology.

As their 'conversation' progressed, the Colonel raised an eyebrow. Was Daniel alright? Did he need to talk? Granted, talking wasn't one of Jack's strong points, but for his friend he could try.

Daniel read this invitation and smiled. He knew what a sacrifice even suggesting 'that sort of thing' was for O'Neill. The man was famous for his 'bark like a chicken, cluck like a dog' opinion of all things psychological. The fact that he had even given Jackson an opening like this was both astounding and moving. Shaking his head, however, the archaeologist graciously declined. "It's okay, Jack."

Accepting this as the mildly untruthful answer it was, O'Neill simply nodded. Daniel was far from 'okay', that was apparent, but talking wasn't the only solution - there were other ways he could help his friend. With this in mind, Jack summoned a light gibe to clear the air. "Yes, well . . . See that you change that shirt. I don't want to be seen wandering the halls with a damp archaeologist."

Several minutes later, the sleepless duo exited their quarters and entered one of the Base corridors. The passageway was utterly deserted and their footsteps seemed to reverberate through the empty space. The Colonel assumed the lead and under his guidance the pair soon began turning down first one hallway and then another.

"Um, I take it you do know where we're going right?" Daniel asked conversationally, feeling more than a little lost.

"Yeah, sure. Of course I do," Jack returned with confidence. "It's right down . . ." trailing off, O'Neill lifted his index finger and began wobbling the digit between the entrances of two corridors. "Right down . . ."

"Oh, great."

"No, no, I'll get it. It's, ah . . . it's . . . it's this one."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Really?"

Jack opened and closed his mouth while dipping his hand indecisively from side to side. Crinkling his brow in frustration, he then blew out a puff of air. "Well, yeah . . . mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Mostly," O'Neill insisted, growing a bit huffy at this friend's tone of doubt. "At least I'm more sure that it is, than I am that it isn't."

Contorting his eyebrows in a look of complete confusion, Daniel cocked his head to one side. Before he could ask for any clarification on the Colonel's comment, however, said Colonel grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the chosen hallway.

"Aw, c'mon Daniel what's the worst that could happen?"

The archaeologist's mind immediately set to work conjuring up a list of 'worst' possibilities, but before he could verbalize any of them, Jack called out in triumph.

"Ah ha! See down there?" he cried, indicating a set of double doors at the end of the hall. "The commissary."

"With guards . . ." Daniel observed slowly.

"Don't say it like that, Danny. It's just the night patrol, not a hoard of Jaffa. They're not gonna' shoot us."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Really?"

"Why do I feel like I've had this conversation?"

"Jack -"

"Daniel, will you can it. Now c'mon." Striding forward, archaeologist in tow, O'Neill boldly approached the two man patrol team. "Hey, kids," he greeted merrily. "Colonel Jack O'Neill United States Air Force, Dr. Daniel Jackson civilian consultant and expert on all things . . . old." Gesturing to their ID tags as he spoke, Jack waited for some kind of reaction. When none came, however, he looked to Daniel for help.

Reading this plea for assistance, the archaeologist obediently struck his best 'we come in peace' smile and began. "Hi, um, we have permission to be here - well maybe not here exactly, but . . . I mean we do its just . . ." groaning at this miserable attempt to explain, Jackson tried again. "What I'm trying to say is that we're guests here and we have, or rather we'd like to . . . that is we're . . ."

"Hungry," the teammates finished together.

A short pause followed this unanimous statement and after a beat Daniel slipped his eyes to the left, while simultaneously O'Neill slipped his to the right. Brief side-long glances were traded and then, as one, they shifted their attention back to the guards.

Seconds ticked by, but at length the bravest of the two servicemen - a Sergeant - managed a reply.

"I'm sorry, Sirs, but the commissary is closed."

Hearing this simple fact, Daniel leaned closer to O'Neill and dropped his head behind the other man's shoulder. "Told you." he muttered.

Throwing an evil glare at his companion, Jack refused to surrender and, in his best Colonel voice, he addressed the guard. "Well, now, there Sergeant we disagree." A dangerous flash of irritation accompanied this rebuttal and he rocked up on his heels. "Your Commander assured me that we were to be given full access to all areas of this base - including the commissary."

Deciding in an instant that challenging the opinion of this visiting Colonel was not something he wanted to attempt, the Sergeant snapped to attention. "Yes, Sir." Pulling a ring of master keys from his belt, the young man then set about unlocking the commissary.

O'Neill beamed with approval at this development and pinned Daniel with his very best 'see there I told ya' smirk. When his gaze finally drifted back to the sentries, he nodded to each of them in turn. "Sergeant, Private . . . Doctor?"

Unaccustomed to hearing Jack refer to him by this title, Daniel floundered slightly. "Hmm, what? Oh, um . . ." Shaking the lost expression from his face, the archaeologist squared his shoulders. "Right. Coming . . . Colonel."

TBC . . . (Next chapter enter Teal'c!)