Title: Fishing
Rating: G
Pairing: implied Jack/Daniel
Words: 602
Summary: Jack and Daniel at the cabin.

They sat on the dock, a plate of sandwiches and a beer between them. One had his khaki shorts rolled up to his thighs, feet hanging off the wooden planks, calf-deep in the cool lake water. The other lounged in a low foldout chair, plaid shirt and cream shorts, slowly reeling in the empty hook from his fishing line.

"It's so nice to get away from the Mountain," the first said, idly watching a dragonfly among the reeds as the lake's edge. A book lay next to him, and he absently stroked the spine.

"Only when you have your books," the second retorted, picking up the beer and taking a sip. "You'd be singing a different tune if I'd made you leave them home."

The first smirked, snagging the beer and drinking. He made a face, and the second man snickered. "How can you drink this crap, Jack?"

"It's an acquired taste," Jack--Colonel Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill, USAF--replied, with an air of superiority. He grabbed the bottle back and finished the beer.

"No, moonshine is an acquired taste," Daniel--Dr. Daniel Jackson, PhD--refuted, adding, "That's just lack of taste buds."

Jack grumbled for a moment, and cast his line out again with force. "With some of the stuff you eat on missions, I'd think it's the other way around."

"I've gained the ability to eat almost anything, and cultivated it carefully," Daniel said primly. "Besides, some of the cultures we've met would have been mortally offended if I'd refused."

"That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it?" the Colonel said, glancing over.

"Remember P3Q-228?" Daniel asked. At O'Neill's nod, he continued, "Remember when they offered that grey...what did you call it?...schlop? Well, that particular dish was the customary offering to their gods; in effect, it was blessed and holy, and the only people who got to eat it were their gods' avatars or the High Priest. Now, do you remember those wicked knives they all carried? If we'd refused to eat their schlop, they'd have knocked us out, and then whipped us, and then drawn and quartered us while we were still alive and kicking."

Jack gave the archeologist an incredulous look. "You're kidding."

Daniel shook his head. "Nope. Heder was cheerfully describing the punishment in all its grisly detail as I ate; it was quite gruesome. I think I almost threw up."

"That's why you were green," Jack observed.

Daniel favored him with a dry look. "Ya think?"

A comfortable silence descended. Daniel kicked out with a leg, the motion causing ripples that spread across the surface. He watched them pensively, then said, "Thanks for inviting me along."

"You're always welcome here, Danny," Jack replied.

"I know, but, it's your sanctuary--"

"It's yours too, now," Jack interrupted with conviction.

After a moment, Daniel ventured, "Even that little stream in the woods?"

"Even that little stream in the woods," Jack nodded.

Daniel smiled warmly, eyes glowing. Jack practically melted into his seat. The archeologist touched Jack's leg, then grabbed a sandwich and started munching.

"Oh, and Jack?" he asked.

Jack looked at him, "What, Danny?"

"I brought some books up from the Mountain last time you were in Washington."

"Why, you little--"

Daniel tuned out Jack's rant--"You're supposed to be on vacation", yadda yadda yadda--but smiled anyway. That just sent Jack off on another self-righteous rant, even though both knew there wasn't any real negative feeling behind it.

He simply selected another sandwich, smiled when Jack ran out of words and went back to fishing and muttering under his breath, and thought, All is right in the world.