TITLE: The Trouble with Jack

AUTHOR: Cyn(di)

EMAIL: custardpringle@yahoo.com

RATING: PG for language

CATEGORY: Humor, drama

SUMMARY: Jack's stapler fetish is getting worse, and Siler is developing a terrible case of corridor rage. When the two cross, it ain't pretty.

SPOILERS: Minor reference to "Heroes 1."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been thinking for a while that "The Trouble with Teal'c" needed a sequel. So here it is. Much more demented (I hope). This starts about five minutes after the end of the other story.

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Only on duty a couple hours, and he'd already been run down in the corridors "accidentally" three times. What a life.

"What the hell is wrong with this place?" Siler muttered to himself. The words echoed weirdly in the SGC's vast network of ventilation ducts. "There's always something going wrong. And somehow, I'm the only one who can ever fix it. Don't know why I put up with this, getting crashed into twenty times a day by people who think their jobs are more important than mine. I've been out for the last two weeks, for Chrissake, because they set me on fire. Can't they go easy on me for once?"

Of course not.

"And then," he added, not caring who might be listening, "they steal Arnold. Can't even leave in innocent stapler in peace, can they?"

-----

"They," in this case, actually referred specifically to Colonel O'Neill, who had walked into the Siler's closet (it was nowhere near big enough to be called an office) about half an hour ago to report that the ventilators were making an odd noise. Chirping, he had called it.

"Chirping?" the Sergeant had repeated dubiously. "Sounds more like there's an animal or something in there, not a mechanical problem."

O'Neill considered this option for a moment, picking up a stapler from the desk and absently whacking it repeatedly into his palm. Siler flinched, but kept himself silent with an effort. "Could you check it out anyway?" the Colonel ultimately decided. "I really think you're the best person to deal with the problem, whatever it is."

With that, he had left, leaving no more room for argument.

"Oh, wonderful, Arnold," Siler had said aloud the instant the door closed. "Miles of ventilation ducts in this place, and he wants me to personally crawl through all of them . . . Arnold?"

Arnold the stapler was not, in fact, there. Colonel O'Neill had taken him with him when he left.

-----

"He took my goddamned stapler," Siler repeated to himself in fresh disbelief.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the appearance of a vent grille just ahead. He thought he heard some squeaking sounds coming from near it. Maybe this was the source of the problem.

Arriving at the grille, Siler looked through and saw Dr. Daniel Jackson's office outside. This was, in fact, the origin of the sound he had heard; Jackson was rummaging determinedly through all his desk drawers, some of which creaked terribly.

On a malicious whim, the sergeant opened the vent, stuck his head out and called, "Hello, Doctor Jackson!" Siler was immensely gratified to see the archaeologist jump in fright and nearly drop what looked like an extremely valuable paperweight.

Jackson looked around, saw him in the duct, and smiled nervously. "Oh, hi, Sergeant . . . I don't suppose you've seen my stapler anywhere? I seem to have lost it."

"No, I'm sorry," Siler said, feigning regret but smiling inwardly to hear that he was not alone in his plight. "Have you heard anything odd? Colonel O'Neill reported odd noises coming from his vent—like chirping, he said."

"Actually," Daniel said thoughtfully, "I did, just a few minutes ago. But I thought I was imagining it. Aftereffect of the tribbles, you know?"

"There were tribbles?" Something was indeed very wrong with this place, Siler thought. Tribbles, of all things.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot, you missed the fun," Jackson explained. "Teal'c brought one back by mistake and, by the time we found out, they had spread all over the base. It took a week to get them all out. So I figured I was imagining it since I'd been listening to chirping all week."

Siler nodded understandingly. "I'd better check it out, though. Thank you, Doctor Jackson."

Later on, just as he was heading back to his closet in despair, he heard something again. And this was undoubtedly the chirp of a hungry tribble. Within a few minutes, the sergeant had found the creature and lovingly picked it up.

Stroking the tribble , Siler grinned widely. "Tribbles . . . wow." A longtime Star Trek fan, he knew only too well the sort of devastation the things could cause. And if he could get this one to breed, which shouldn't be too hard . . . that could be useful.

Very useful indeed.

"Hang on, Arnold," Siler said aloud. "I'll get you back. I promise."