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A Man and His Plushie: A Comedy of Errors 4/4
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
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PART THE FOURTH: In Which Jack's Dark Secret is Revealed
It was not one of those mornings-- at least, in Daniel's mind-- that indicated any sort of danger, trouble, mayhem-- or other incarnations of Goa'uld system lords, for that matter-- might be lurking in the hours that laid ahead. It was a chilly Friday morning, following a Thursday night that had included a rather loopy, flirty Jack, Teal'c's take on human sex acts, and a quartet of giggling nurses. Having been employed at Area 52 for the better part of five years this was, to Doctor Jackson, small potatoes.
And not the "pummeled" kind he and Teal'c had brought to Janet's.
Sometimes, upon returning from truly harrowing missions-- like the operation to disable Apophis and Klorel's ships; the instance in which an alternate Sam with Very Bad Hair arrived at the SGC and started making eyes at the Colonel; or the truly terrifying trip to PX4-009, which just so happened to be a planet full of a rather rambunctious lizard-bunny rabbit crossbreed-- Daniel might think back to the morning and wonder if, in his coffee-craving haze, he might have missed some vital warning of what was to come.
Did the clouds loom a little lower in the sky than they ought to have?
Was Ms. Mills more energetic as she whacked her broom against Daniel's floor, signaling that _she_ certainly didn't agree with his work hours?
Or maybe his favorite fish, BYF (short for "Big Yellow Fish"), was a little slower in snapping up her pellets?
He'd even considered checking his horoscope, but Teal'c was really into taking care of that, up to the point that Madame Starsky's predictions were a regular part of pre departure briefings.
Was he getting paranoid?
Glancing in the guest bathroom mirror at Jack's house, Daniel studied himself critically.
"Nah," he informed his reflection, "considering the fact they really are out to get me."
So, right. Here he was, 6:15 am on a Friday morning (unholy hour that!), armed with the one medical aid he was allowed to give Jack (advil) and a constant ringing in his ear from where Janet had decided to phone him at dawn and inform him of this Earth-shattering news.
"Yay," said Daniel.
Clearly, Dr. Jackson was not quite paranoid _enough_, considering he never expected the proverbial curve-ball to come from his best friend's corner of the field. After all, Jack couldn't possibly get any weirder than he had last night. Honestly-- a tight hug, a light kiss and some flirting! One would think the Tok'ra had tapped into Daniel's brain and were playing something from the PG section of his fantasy library.
Quietly, the young linguist opened Jack's bedroom door, calling out the other man's name and keeping a safe enough distance that, should Jack wake and think himself someplace else (like Iraq, Chu'lak or the men's room at O'Malley's), Daniel would be able to duck out of the way. Sometimes he was quite sure that the last bump on his head (courtesy of Jack) was what had started all this nonsense.
"Jack?" Daniel crept carefully over the BDU's discarded on the floor, "Could you wake up? Janet says I should give you this stuff before you get a headache from the Healer's... stuff. Jack?" He peered around the sleeping man's back, "Jac--"
Daniel blinked. On autopilot, he reached over and opened the blinds, allowing illumination to pour into the room. He blinked again, then once more for good measure and rubbed at his eyes. His so-called non-threatening morning had just taken a sharp turn at the corner of Surreal and Just Plain Odd.
There, happily curled up under the comforter, was one Colonel Jonathan Benjamin O'Neill, USAF, long time member of Special Ops and-- this had neither been confirmed or denied-- possibly Black Ops; all around hard-ass, kick-ass, 'keep shooting I thought I saw it twitch' Jack.
In his arms, he help a small, stuffed toy bearing uncanny resemblance to his best friend, the man who's jaw was currently on the floor in front of said bed. Leaning in a little closer, Daniel could see the patch on the toy's shirt proclaiming "Jackson", not to mention it's slightly crooked set of glasses.
"Gah!" said Daniel, without really meaning to-- for surely his sanity had spiraled into the realm of the irretrievable, now.
And, of course, Jack woke up.
At first, Daniel held out the hope that it was one of those brief, two-to-three minutes of hazy wakefulness he himself was so famous for. Smiling, Jack turned brown eyes on his friend, the expression on his face not only fond and pleased, but also one that proclaimed Jack thought Daniel was upsetting the balance of the universe with his positioning in regards to the bed. Meaning, standing beside it, rather than being _in_ it, with Jack. Looking almost sweetly annoyed, the older man patted the empty pillow beside him and rolled over, clearly expecting company any minute.
Daniel let out a breath, and Jack turned back over, this time the awareness in his eyes shining at Def-Con Three.
"Oh," Jack murmured, sounding like he wished he knew how to talk his way around this one, "shit."
"Gah!" Daniel muttered again, because it bore repeating. His hand shook, sending the medicine bottle plummeting to the bed. "Advil," he said, by way of explanation.
"Do you have a headache?" Jack cocked his head, concerned. His rather large arms still imprisoned the miniature Daniel, which looked for all the world as if it was smiling smugly.
"I do now!" the linguist managed.
"Yah," the older man took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then, seeming to have come to a decision, hopped out of bed. Hastily, he threw the covers back up and set the Daniel plushie against the pillows. "Do you want some breakfast?"
"Jack?" Daniel, having run out of verbal ways to communicate, decided to point at the object.
"This isn't happening," Jack assured him gently, picking up the toy. He puppeted it's hand in a tiny wave, "See? Not happening."
"But it is. Not-- not-not," the archeologist gasped, "happening!" Before Jack could sense his intentions, Daniel plucked the plushie from the older man's hands. Carefully, as if perhaps it explained every even minutely weird thing that had happened to him since opening the Stargate, he examined the toy. From it's blue button eyes to it's mini-BDUs, from it's ear-length hair to it's stitched little half smile.
"Would you believe I have no idea where that came from?" Jack suggested helpfully. The glare he received made him close his mouth, at least until Daniel shook the tiny replica. "Hey!" Jack grabbed it back, "Easy with that. It's mine!"
A patented, confused-archaeologist look. "Jack, it looks like me."
"Well, there's a good reason for that..." the Colonel held up a finger, certain he had the key that would yank his admittedly not-to-shabby posterior out of the fire. Then, he ended rather lamely, "'Cause it's supposed to be you?"
"It _is_?" Daniel asked loudly, looking around wildly for the entrance of a marching band, or some other indication of the dreaming state. Jack was patting the plushie's hair as if it's tiny, stuffed feelings had been hurt.
"He's just pissy without his coffee," he explained to the toy in a calm tone.
The linguist shook his head, "Where.. where did it come from?"
Jack smiled wolfishly, "You see, Daniel, when a Mommy-plushie and a Daddy-plushie love each other very much..."
"Not funny," Daniel squeaked.
"Alright," the older man looked a bit deflated, "Cassie made it. For art class. And then she gave it to me. It has boxers." The last bit was added in a somewhat helpful tone.
"Boxers? "
"Yeah." The tiny pants were obligingly pulled down a tad, "Boxers."
"This makes no sense." Distantly, some part of Daniel realized he'd just been mooned by a plushie, but he was far more occupied trying to keep grips with the smaller things in reality.
"Which is why," Jack said solemnly, "you should forget this ever happened."
"See-- so it is happening!" the linguist jumped up and down in a semi-frustrated, semi-triumphant dance.
Jack's fond, rather gentle murmur of, "Of course, Daniel" gave him pause.
Wait!" Daniel held up a hand, turning swiftly on his heal and beginning to pace. Both Jack and the plushie managed to look very frightened, watching the archeologist move back and forth, tapping his chin thoughtfully. The Colonel figured both Daniel and Sam had to have gone to Evil Mad Scientist School, to learn such nefarious looking chin-tapping. Worriedly, he waited, listening to Daniel's coffee-deprived mental gears begin to shift.
You see, Daniel was smart-- so smart, in fact, that in every reality lacking his presence, it took two years and three teams of scientists (headed by a Sam that had been the victim of a fashion bypass) in order to figure out what he'd discovered in little over a week. Yeah, he was that smart-- Jack happened to think that was _really_ cute. He was also kind, caring, and highly dedicated to the preservation of knowledge and culture no matter _how_ alien they got. He could decode languages faster than a speeding bullet. His looks floored people with more power than a locomotive. He was able to leap to amazingly correct conclusions in a single bound.
He had no common sense what so ever.
Carefully, Daniel reviewed the Empirical evidence-- weighting it objectively against that which his desires might conjure into being, cross-referenced it with recent happenings and Jack's own tendency to stay away from anything even remotely suggestive of feelings.
We'd like to buy a vowel, Pat.
A bright, wonderful smile bloomed on his face.
"Jack?" he asked sweetly.
That loud noise you just heard? Was a soldier 'gulping' in fear.
"Um, yeah, Daniel?"
Unconsciously, the archeologist batted his eyelashes. "Could you do me a favor?"
"S-Sure."
"Don't ask me any questions for the next five minutes." Having laid out this request, Daniel reached past his friend, undid the hastily made bed and confiscated the plushie once more. Absently, he sat it back on the night stand and ushered Jack back onto the bed. Arranging the stunned Colonel to his satisfaction, Daniel then climbed into bed along side him, scooting so that he could rest his head on the other man's shoulder and guide Jack's arms towards an embrace.
"Daniel?" Jack, had he not been an air force officer of several decades, would have made a sound distinctly resembling 'eep!'
"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to learn how to count?" the linguist in his arms joked good-naturedly, wiggling so as to achieve the maximum amount of comfort.
"Nope," the other man couldn't help but smile, feeling his friend plant several shy kisses on his neck. "Um, does this mean what I think it means?"
"Hmmm..." Daniel considered, carding his fingers through Jack's silver hair, "it means that my supposedly straight best friend, whom I have been agonizing over for years, was found sleeping with a miniature stuffed toy of myself-- something that would indicate affection leaning towards the non-platonic area of the emotional spectrum. It means that his haphazard attempts to flirt with me yesterday, not to mention his insane tendency towards over protectiveness, were not drug induced, but an expression of his true feelings. It means I love you and I think you love me too." Clearly, Dr. Jackson had put a great deal of work into this theory. Jack, being an appreciative audience of one, proceeded to haul Daniel up and kiss him-- thus providing enough evidence to make for a proof even the narrow-minded archeological community couldn't argue with.
"Wow," Jack murmured, nuzzling the younger man's hair and proceeding to attempt to squeeze the stuffing out of him.
"It also means," Daniel said, somewhat distracted by the nibbling at his ear, "that the plushie has been receiving affection in my place, and I demand a refund!"
"You _are_ smart," the Colonel hissed happily, attempting to touch Daniel everywhere at once.
"I try," Dr. Jackson replied primly. "Now," he stretched, wrapping his arms more tightly around his friend, "it's..." he glanced at the clock, "7:10 in the morning and I do believe this new arrangement will require more sleep, which we will be needing sometime shortly."
The Colonel's fingers did a little walking up Daniel's vertebrae, "Is there room in your impressive findings for an early morning experiment?"
"Not so fast," Daniel mock-frowned, reaching up to tweak Jack's ear, "I'm not cheap. Not to mention the fact I like to be conscious for sex." He rolled his eyes, shuddering briefly at the thought of several persons in the pass few years who had missed this important little detail.
"You're conscious now," Jack pointed out, pouting.
"No, I'm not. It's just your imagination."
"Ah," the Colonel managed to sound truly enlightened. He soon found himself quite absorbed in kissing the back of Daniel's neck.
"So--" the linguist didn't bother to hide his grin, "any questions?"
"Hmmm... love you, Spacemonkey," Jack purred contentedly, clearly much enamored with his new bedmate. On the night stand, the plushie seemed to be leaning back, satisfied with a job well done.
"Love you, too, Jack," Daniel shivered, only to have his friend pull up the covers and hold him more closely.
There was a pause of silence while Jack reached over, lowered the shades and made one last arrangement of appendages and pillows. Contentedly, he laid his head back on the pillow, nose buried in Daniel's hair. His eyes closed sleepily.
Then opened once more.
"Wait. I do have one question, Daniel."
There was a sleepy, rather vulnerable, "Hmm?"
"I never did look to see whether or not Cassie made that little guy anatomically correct."
This resulted in one of the longest full-body blushes in recorded history.
Among other things.