Way # 42 -- The Pole

The man had been up since 6:00 hours that morning, with barely contained glee. Over by the campfire, warming up the MREs, Carter watched in curiosity. Jack had been tediously measuring the distance from his tent flap and had a chair set up a specific distance from the tent. Then he had slowly, silently zipped the flap open and fashioned it so that it stayed open with a clothespin. Now he was standing by his chair, examining an object that looked like . . . a long wooden dowel. A couple inches thick. And very long.

"Colonel?" Carter finally asked, causing him to look over in alarm and immediately shush her. She dropped silent and slouched in her seat a little, automatically alarmed by her CO's apparent distress. He crept over to her carefully, dowel in hand.

"Are you trying to demolish my well-laid plans, Major?" he whispered, expression irritated.

"Sir, with all due respect, what the heck are you doing?"

There was something so personal in the way he was sprawled out over Jack's sleeping-bag, face down on his stomach, legs and arms spread in the picture of laziness and relaxation. How he achieved this level of trust on an alien planet, Jack would never be able to guess. His bag--his bag-- was bunched up a bit in a ball as Daniel hugged it, nuzzling his face into it comfortingly.

"It's a nine-foot-pole," Jack explained to his 2IC, holding the dowel in a way similar to Teal'c wielding his staff weapon. He was grinning profusely as if he had just said the cleverest thing in the world.

"A what?" Carter asked, uncertain if he really heard him right. Jack shook his head,

"Just watch and you'll find out."

He sat down on his carefully placed chair and casually lowered the pole, then slowly inched it forward, looking for all the world like somebody lining up to take a shot at pool. It kept going forward . . . more . . . and more . . . and entered clean through the tent flap. Suddenly Carter understood.

"You're waking Daniel up."

"Yep."

"This is your next idea, isn't it?"

"I believe it's number forty-two," he confirmed.

Carter shook her head, but she had to stay and watch. It was in her friend's best interest. She'd have to stop the Colonel if it got out of hand.

You know. Just in case.

"So what exactly are you going to--" Carter started, but suddenly shut up when Jack shushed her and she found out the answer to her question. From a distance of a little over nine feet, Jack poked Daniel with the pole.

Carter bit her lower lip to keep from laughing as the still-asleep archeologist swatted at the annoyance like a fly.

Daniel frowned. Realization was slow in dawning on him, but now he was certain. There was most definitely something poking him in the ass.

Slapping at it, the object seemed to retract from his reach. One of his eyes opened blearily to see the side of an Air-Force grade green tent and Air-Force grade white pillow in his face. Had he-- imagined it? But then his tormenter was back with a vengeance. His eye shut and he hollered the one name he knew would always have to be responsible.

"Jaaaaack!"

There was definitely snickering, but it sounded distant. Was Sam--? Oh, great. He should have known that traitor would be in on it. The object-- it felt like a stick or something--poked insistently. He was so immature.

"Jack, cut it out!"

"Cut what out, Danny?" Jack retorted. He sounded oddly distant.

"You know what!"

"I'm afraid I have no idea."

Jab, jab, jab. Daniel's voice came squeaky from frustration and morning grumpiness,

"Quit poking me in the ass!"

That sure got Jack laughing, and Sam too. But they definitely sounded like they were all the way on the other side of camp. What the--?

"Danny, you know I'd never poke your ass with a ten-foot pole."

"Huh?" Daniel swatted again, this time opening his eyes to see his target, swoop out of his way like somebody yanks piñata at the last second.

"I said I'd never poke your ass with a ten-foot-pole," Jack repeated with unusual emphasis. Daniel moaned into his pillow.

"Jack, I have no idea what you're talking about, and could you just leave me alone? There's no reason to get up early . . ."

"It's ten-hundred-hours," Jack said, emphasizing each word with a jab.

"Is not," Daniel muttered into the pillow.

"Is too. Check your watch."

He did check his watch. 6:30.

"Jack . . ." Daniel rumbled in his warning tone.

"What I tell ya?" he retorted, STILL poking him with that god-damned stick!

Daniel whipped up and grabbed hold of it all at once, his sleeping bag and pillow gone flying in his wake. On his knees, he looked confusedly at the object he now had a firm grip of with both hands. Following it with his eye, the wood stick kept going. . . and going. . . straight out the tent outside all the way across the camp up to Jack, sitting calmly on a chair holding the other end. When Daniel's eye had followed the complete path up to Jack's face, the Colonel raised his brows at him.

"What the heck is this?"

"A nine foot pole," Jack answered without missing a beat.

There was a joke in there somewhere, Daniel was sure of it. Just by the way Jack had said it and his expression. Something about . . . a cliché. . . it didn't matter. It wasn't worth the effort figuring out.

"You think that's funny?" Daniel asked, voice scratchy from his rude awakening. A smile slowly blossomed on his tormentor's face.

"Yeah, but I have to admit the way you look's even more funny right now."

Daniel tried to pull the pole out of his hands with one, clean jerk, but the Colonel was ready for him and held fast.

"Gimmie this," Daniel grumbled.

"Danny, I was just doing my job. It's morning and--"

Daniel started pulling on the pole and Jack pulled back.

"6:30 in the morning! Why can't you wake me up like a normal person, at least?!"

Carter had long collapsed on a log beside the campfire, in hysterics. It was too much to take.

The two boys continued to bicker and the pole turned into a rather aggressive tug-of-war. They were soon putting all their strength into it. The pole slowly inched in Jack's direction--it was obvious he was gaining ground.

"Forget it Danny, you might beat me at most things, but this is one thing I'm still superior in," Jack said, voice low and grinding as he strained to pull the pole.

"What was that, Jack?" Daniel asked in an oddly normal and polite tone. He let go of the pole with an impassive look. He realized the saying "seeing the whites of his eyes" gained whole new meaning as Jack went flying.

The back of the chair flipped back and smacked the ground with a sickening thud-crunch, the pole following suit to make a loud crack sound as it no doubt impacted with a part of Jack.

Daniel gave a tiny smile of satisfaction.

Sam got to her feet and rushed to him, "Colonel! You ok?"

He watched as Sam assessed the damage, for a moment feeling the worry and guilt that the moron had hurt himself. Then he heard his name being ground out, and he knew the man would survive.

"Daaan-yeeel!"