(A/N: Oh, well. That was a much welcomed and lovely response.
Cherryblossomjen: Yes I did see those pics for Threads. I went Postal I swear. My neighbors are this close to getting me committed because I keep raving about Sam getting engaged and Jack hooking up with Kerry and how it would be nice to have a Goa'uld attack earth for the sole reason of taking out Kerry Johnson and Pete Shanahan.
Sadly, we can only hope. As I'm sure many a reluctant disclaimer has stated in the past.
Stargate-1fan: Okay, well I suppose I wouldn't want the headliners to be "death by fanfic withdrawal" so here's another chap.
And thanks, all you who reviewed. I really was not expecting such a good response.)
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Doctor Daniel Jackson had been the last one out of Jack's office that morning once the team meeting had come to a close, and he gazed lengthily at his friend with the air of someone who was actually a bit glad there was not much work he had to do today.
His expression was tentative, as were his thoughts. He lounged back in his chair with the relaxed demeanor of someone who intended to stay in his current posture for an overt amount of time.
Daniel watched his best friend play the flawless Air force General; stacking papers, reading memos, pretending that his pending inquisitor was not seated directly across from him calculating his every move while having donned the expression of derisive questioning.
It was all a matter of will. How much better could he be at this brief game of avoidance than his sarcastically armed and often gladly confused friend?
"Is there something you wanted, Daniel?" his tone was easy, but emphasized in all the wrong places that were typical of Jack's underlying wit. If you felt utterly compelled to call it that.
Daniel allotted himself a moment of triumph, though. He had won after all.
"Oh…uh, nothing…Jack…" he was purposefully braking up his speech, a habit he usually reserved for when he was in deep thought, and a man like Jack did not regularly warrant this kind of contemplation.
"Just…um…just wondering if you happen to…" he shifted in his seat and inwardly congratulated himself on the annoyed look his hesitant nature was receiving, "um, happen to have noticed which, um, which completely absurd suicidal alien entity has…I don't know…take possession of your conscious and arguably sane brain functions?"
The archeologist frowned at his own words before Jack had a chance to reply: arguably sane? Well, more like teetering on the edge of fanatical psychosis, but that was a quip for another time. Perhaps at the next fishing invitation…
"Daniel…" was the first response.
Yes, that alarmingly drawn out warning that tended to hinge on his name. It meant, 'Danger-Space Monkey-you-might-wake-up-missing-a-few-limbs'. But after several years, Jack should know by now that this approach only encouraged him, and he was a skilled linguist that had merit to translate the tone as he saw fit. At the moment it was a blatant invitation.
"Jack?" speaking of double meaning tones…
The old man sighed and slowly leaned back in his chair.
Wait for it…
The hands went to the face…
Getting closer…
The hands brushed their way through the hair.
Ah-ha! The exhausted sign of surrender!
"Boy, I did it this time, didn't I?" Jack asked dispiritedly, glancing at his ever meaningless and ever infinite pile of paperwork.
Well…" Daniel began, "if by, "did it", you mean put Sam's job on the line, drove away a promising girlfriend—who, by the way, had been our last hopeful means of escaping an invite to spend downtime with you--, gave every member on the base something to gossip about for the next…oh…year maybe…and released an opportunity for me to make money off of your lapse in judgment? Then…yea…I say you've pretty much, "did it" this time"
Jack looked weary. Until Daniel's last sentence caught up to his guilt trip, "Make money off me?" he asked with a genuine interested, previous mistake obviously forgotten.
Well, if the man was going to rack up the nerve to bounce back that fast then he certainly did not deserve Daniel's present company. Where was the amusement in a passive Jack O'Neill?
"Yea…um…about that, I should probably start the betting before Teal'c beats me to it"
He was out of Jack's office before you could say, "dismemberment". A word that would certainly pop up some time in Daniel's near future…
Once in his office he began to make the necessary preparations, retrieving from under a hidden compartment in his desk a ledger that recorded all the events of illegal betting that would be severely frowned upon in such an upstanding military base as the SGC.
And in all factuality, it was frowned upon.
Frowned upon by the President when he lost to Hammond, frowned upon by Hammond when he lost to O'Neill, frowned upon by O'Neill when he lost to Carter…Yes, the proper authorities were frowning properly.
Daniel flipped to a blank page and began…
The wager was this: gamblers had to predict if Carter and/or O'Neill were going to address the event that occurred earlier. Then they had to predict when it would happen, how it would happen, and who would witness it.
Of course this meant that Daniel had to elect his own personal spy to tag both Carter and O'Neill the entire day (week, month.) and report to him when this encounter occurred and all the details so he could determine who had won.
Now, from a realistic view, what Jack had said was not so bad. It could have, for all intents and purposes, been and expression of simply needing his subordinate officer to fulfill a legitimate duty for him.
But the General's glaring out burst accompanied by past behavior and gossip starved base personnel, would soon turn into an unrecognizably extravagant romance novel by the time it had a chance to fully circulate around the mountain.
And that's what Daniel always counted on.
Not that he mad a habit of taking advantage of his close friends' apparent unrequited attraction for each other…not in the least, he was far too compassionate…and that, folks, is the lie that has kept his side line business of bookie extended for so long.
Doctor Jackson was suddenly unappreciatively interrupted in his thoughts by a brilliant Colonel, who had a dangerous mix of psychological as well as scientific intelligence, and she was rough around just the right edges to find pleasure in partaking with base bets now and then.
Which meant she had intimate knowledge of his operation and how it worked.
Daniel wondered what exactly had jinxed him this time. Perhaps it was the earlier mention of dismemberment…
"I know what you're doing, Daniel, and you can forget it" Sam said, leaning against his doorframe, looking nonchalant as ever.
"Sam…I, uh…didn't see you there…"
Hide the book.
At least make an effort to hide the book.
"Was there, um…" he cleared his throat innocently, "Was there something you wanted?"
She gave him the eyes of experience, and he knew there was no point in attempting the lame.
"No matter how much money everyone is going to put into this, there is nothing, nothing, that is going to happen between me and the General. I'm engaged for crying out loud-"
She stopped mid rant. Cut off by the sardonically inquisitive look he was giving her and the realization of her own words.
She grumbled a few curses under her breath and continued, "What? It's just an expression…I mean…ah, bad example…I mean…ah, damn it"
Daniel was verging on disbelief in his own hearing. Never once had he heard Sam sound so much like the…former Colonel O'Neill. This wasn't just amusing anymore. It was downright hilarious!