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"You so owe me."
"Jack- I would be happy to listen to all the various ways I shall have to grovel in the next few days but could you at least tell me them in more moderated tones?" Daniel sighed, slouching down into the passenger seat of Jack's SUV.
"You owe me big time," Jack complied, speaking in a stage whisper and pointing an officious finger at the archaeologist.
Daniel slouched lower and tried to block out the light from passing cars' headlights.
"I thought you wanted to get out of dinner with Sam?"
The colonel's mouth, open and poised to reiterate gloats, clapped shut. "I was winning at pool."
"You think you're going to win your money back?"
"I was win-NING!" Jack yelled angrily.
"Inside voice use your inside voice" Daniel muttered, clutching his forehead.
"Coulda taken her," the colonel mumbled regretfully, knowing that his direct order to keep all of the balls on the table in their EXACT position would not be taken seriously. Teal'c and Carter were probably on their second game by now.
"Sure, Jack."
"Hey- mock not lest ye be mocked."
"You started it."
"I can't believe I ask you to take a medical stand-down and the first thing you do is get yourself drunk!"
"It was unintentional, I assure you," Daniel groaned feelingly.
"You could have gotten drunk with us--"
"And you could have still played-"
"Ah-ah-ah!"
"Sorry- WON at pool. Yeah. Lesson learned."
They fell into silence, each thinking about their respective disappointing evenings.
"So where was your colleague?"
"Huh?" Daniel pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
"The Living God of Translating Stupid Old Stuff? Where was he while you were getting plastered?"
"She was there."
"Uh-huh. I assume there's more to this story?"
"What's there to tell? He, who was in fact, a she, was there, I was there, lots of wine was there. We talked and then we argued and she told me to eat and I didn't want to and then I felt like seeing what color my stomach juices were. The end," he finished sarcastically.
"Sounds thrilling."
"Incredibly bizarre is more fitting a description. I have the weirdest feeling that she was testing me or something interrogating, oh I don't know. I can't seem to think properly."
"The evils of drink." Jack glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Daniel was slumped over in his seat with his head in his hands. "Hey, don't fall asleep on me. There is no way in hell I'm carrying you inside. So what's this crazy lady's name anyway?"
"Pricilla."
"Ouch. No wonder she goes by an initial. So what's in the bag?"
"My $30 mini-steak," Daniel said ruefully, his stomach churning at the thought of food as Jack pulled up in front of his apartment building. He reached for the door handle and offered it up with his other hand. "Want it?"
"Sure. Why not?" Jack said, taking the bag's handles gingerly between two fingers. "Always wanted a 'mini-steak.' Is that French?"
"Yes, Jack," came a martyred sigh.
"Min-NI-steak," Jack tried experimentally speaking with an egregious French accent that made Daniel wince. "Doesn't sound quite right. Missing a certain jenais sais qua." He paused, watching Daniel warily exit the car. "Kinda disappointed about that."
"Well, the next time I make a drunken fool of myself" he managed wryly, trying his level best not to fall over.
"Yeah. Daniel- take it easy, okay? And no rocks til Monday!" Jack shouted after the retreating archaeologist.
After seeing Daniel disappear into the building, Jack shook the bag experimentally. "A Mi-NI-steak." Placing it carefully on the passenger seat, he drove off to see if there was yet hope for maintaining his precarious superiority over his 21C. He was going to have to eat humble pie, as per usual, he figured.
But at least this time, he could blame Daniel and still relish Carter's gleeful 'I win' smile. Yes. Daniel's fault. "Brilliant. That's why I get the mini-steaks," he murmured to himself, and whistled happily for the rest of the drive back to O'Malleys.
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Sunday afternoon Jack meandered into the kitchen in the hopes of finding breakfast. After several minutes of scouring his cabinets he had discovered that his only box of cereal had only a few precious cornflakes and marshmellow dust settled at the bottom and that he had eaten the last of his poptarts three days ago.
Perhaps, lunch then?
He opened his fridge and stared into its not-so-deep depths, the shelves mostly bare. Condiments, one bottle of beer left, salsa in a tupperware container and a plastic bag with Maison de la Fleur emblazoned on it in gold script.
Score. Mini-steak and beer is exactly the kind of fortification one needs for, say, a trip to the grocery store. Then there'd be more beer and snacks and television (and that never-to-be-mentioned-to-anyone-EVER Joan of Arcadia tape from Friday night) all night long and he didn't have to deal with Carter being so damn perfect and unattainable or the lesser mortals that populated the SGC Excellent.
He opened the bag and peered into it, hesitant, not quite certain of what a French mini-steak would taste like at 2pm the day after. He reached into the bag and pulled out a styrofoam box.
And a letter. Huh? He shook the bag experimentally, checking to make sure no more surprises fell out (what- no toy?), then he picked up the envelope where it had fallen on the floor. The script in the upper left-hand corner was the same as that on the bag- it must have come from the restaurant. His first thought was that Daniel had tossed his cookies on carpeting and it was a bill for cleaning. Or a gift certificate? (Come back when you're feeling better?)
Blue handwriting on the back made things more unclear. The message consisted of three digits and underneath them, what looked like a local phone number. Feeling slightly invasive (the bag was Daniel's after all, the letter must be his), he opened the unsealed envelope.
Three polaroids spilled out onto his kitchen table. Rocks, more rocks. And hadn't he told that crazy man that that kinds of stuff was off limits this weekend! Fuming and plotting appropriate revenge, he picked up one of the pictures. Staring at it for a few moments, his stomach lurched. He quickly reached for the others to make sure he wasn't having visual hallucinations due to lack of nourishment.
Shit. That man can't keep out of trouble for 24 hours, Jack cursed Daniel inwardly and strode purposefully for the phone. This was not how he wanted to spend his Sunday.
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"Daniel, we have a problem."
"Jack?" Daniel swiveled on his piano bench as he answered the phone, interrupted in the midst of an intricate and convoluted fugue. "What's up?"
"You know that mini-steak you gave me?"
"What, no good? It wasn't like I slobbered all over it"
"Thank you so much for the image. No, this is about the letter that was with the mini-steak."
"Letter? What letter?" Daniel's stomach sank. He had felt horrible for all of Saturday and hadn't managed to track down his illusive colleague for an opportunity to apologize for his behavior. Emails had come back with an away message that Dr. Effington was out of the office for an unspecified amount of time.
Jack groaned feelingly in the phone. "Look, get yourself together and meet me at the base in a half-hour. I will then sternly reprimand you for breaking my "no work" rule, and then suggest to the general that he do the same. Right after we figure out what the hell mess you've gotten into this time."
The phone went dead and Daniel looked quizzically at the receiver. What mess? What letter? Thoroughly confused, Daniel hastily put away his sheet music and surmounted a search for his car keys.
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To be continued
