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Interlude #1 -- Shopping With the Boys

"This'll work." Jack squeezed the pruning handles and made snip-snip motions with the garden tool towards Daniel's face.

"Cut my nose off and I'll do worse to you than that, Jack," Daniel said in a calm warning. Jack grinned indulgently at him.

"We need to buy me some screws. I wanna look at the drill bits, too."

"I think that's on the other side of the store. Oooh, let's go over there first."

"Why? There's nothing but flowers over there."

"Not just flowers, all sorts of plants. Don't you need any landscaping?"

"Not really . . ." Jack wandered down the poison and fertilizer aisle and murmured,

"Help me find some good ant bait. The little bastards set up camp during the summer of '95 and haven't left since then."

"I find that shocking considering there's hardly anything to eat around there, normally," Daniel mumbled.

"See! I bought this stuff last time, and it didn't work! They didn't even go near it!"

"Try this, Jack." Daniel pointed out a box. "Supposed to kill the nest. The workers take it back to feed their young and the queen."

"Hmm," Jack pondered seriously, reading the back of the box. Daniel grew bored because Jack studied every single type of ant poison in the aisle so he wandered into the gardening section and came back about fifteen minutes later carrying some plant-pots.

"Danny, I told you I'm not a gardener. I've got the exact opposite of a green thumb. Brown thumb. Er. Whatever you'd call it."

"Don't worry, these are very low maintenance, put em' in the ground and forget about them," Daniel pitched, as if he was a salesman, waving the little pots of ferns and groundcover around.

"You better mean that. Because I'm bad luck for plants, I really am, Daniel. I get within a five-mile radius of them and they die."

"I'm serious, I've gotten these before. Your yard looks like crap, Jack. You don't have a front lawn, you've just got dandelions and crabgrass."

Jack frowned. "It isn't my fault saving the world from total annihilation takes up so much of my spare time."

Daniel pushed the pots into Jack's hands, "Here. Have you picked out a poison yet or not?"

"I've got it narrowed down to this or this . . ."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Jack, just pick one."

"Stop rushing me!"

Daniel grabbed a box and tossed it into the hand-basket Jack had.

"Here. Get this. It works. I promise."

Jack eyed him suspiciously. "You sure?"

"Positive. Come on. Let's go get you some screws."

Jack grinned, "Right, okay."

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"Jack, exactly how long do you go without food in your house?"

Jack frowned.

"There's food. I still have some popcorn and pretzels in the cupboard. And I think there's a can of chicken soup."

"Ah. Ok. That answers my question then," Daniel responded, turning the empty cart and pushing it forward.

"Hey, hey, where are you going?"

"Follow me, Jack. I shall lead you by the hand to strange new worlds. We have a name for this realm. It is called . . . fresh produce."

Jack sighed in exasperation.

"If I knew you were going to do this, I would've opted to shop with my mother."

Daniel pointed out different areas and issued commands;

"Grab some of those baggies and twisty-ties, pick out about five or six of each: red apples, oranges, yellow apples, a bunch of bananas--"

"I don't really eat--"

"Jack!"

"Okay!"

"I'll get a few heads of lettuce-- not just the useless butterleaf stuff, that's 98 water-- and a few other veggies. Got it?"

Jack grumbled and headed off towards the stacks of fruit. Daniel pushed the cart along the vegetables and bagged a head of butterleaf and a head of redleaf. He hesitated over the spinach, wondering if that would be pushing his luck, and chose to grab a bag of mixed young greens instead with only some baby spinach in it. He got a bag of baby peeled carrots, and was investigating the colorful bell peppers when Jack loped back to the cart, baggies in tow. He tossed them half-hazardly into the cart.

"There, hope you're happy. Half of those'll probably go rotten before I remember to eat any."

"Jack, you like red or green bell peppers better?"

Jack blinked at the question.

"You mean there's a difference? Besides color?"

"Uh. Never mind." Daniel dropped a couple red peppers into the bag.

"But Daniel, I never get those. What do I do with them?"

"Just, slice them into sections. You eat them. Raw. Like carrots. See?" he pointed to the baby carrots.

"Oh. Okay . . ."

"Some people like them in salads?"

"Salad?" Jack grinned. "What's that?"

"Very funny. For being somebody who keeps claiming he'll eat better, you sure don't seem too motivated."

"Ah you gotta catch me at the right time for that."

"Ok, we'll get an English cucumber, and a few tomatoes, and we'll be done here, I think."

"Cool. I'll catch you in the chip-asile, 'kay?"

Daniel sighed.

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"I like that one. I've been watching him. He's got attitude."

"The label says he's pretty aggressive."

Jack looked to the young man crouched down next to him.

"So?"

"So. What about those tetras you said you wanted."

Jack grinned. "Yeeeah. They were cute."

"That fish would have them for breakfast."

"You think so?" They both peered back into the tank.

"Look at him. Definitely."

"But he's cool. He looks like a shark."

"Well you could not buy the tetras."

Jack glanced to the other fish tanks. The tiny little bright red-and-blue tetras swam in neat, tight formations.

"Y'know, they're fast little suckers, maybe they can fend for themselves if I--"

"Jack! You aren't supposed to mix aggressives with defenseless little tetras!"

"Okay, okay, fine."

Jack looked between both tanks.

"So if I gave them little weapons it would be all right?"

Daniel pointed to another tank,

"Here, what about these guys? They're a bit bigger."

"They're so dull, though. Boring. I don't like em'."

"Hmm."

Daniel wandered down the row of fish tanks a little further while Jack kept watching the little 'shark' swimming around.

"Ooo! Jack, c'mere. I've got your fish for you."

"Rrm. Where."

"Here, look!"

Jack came over reluctantly and looked where Daniel was pointing.

"Wow," he said after a moment.

"They're . . . glowy."

"I think they're the ones called lantern tetras," Daniel read the sticker off the fish tank.

"They're glowy . . ." Jack observed again, watching the swimming school of fish like he was hypnotized.

"Are you two ready to buy your fish?" Daniel glanced up at the young man with the blue employee t-shirt.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I think so. Jack . . .?"

". . . glowy . . ." Jack murmured, eyes still glued to the tank. Daniel smirked and pointed to the tank, addressing the employee.

"He'll take about five of the glowy fish, to start with."

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"I always wonder how these mom-n'-pop restaurants stay in business these days," Jack said through his mouthful of sandwich.

"I'm not sure. There's less and less of them though. It's a shame because I really do like the variety and personal touch they give you."

"Mm-hmm. Where else can you go eat lunch where they hang rusty steel rods and taxidermied cattle heads off the walls?"

The place was a Western-themed deli, Jack's treat. They had swung by Jack's place first to put away the groceries and introduce the fish to their new home first, of course.

"Hopefully the answer is nowhere else," Daniel commented, munching on his fries.

"Exactly. It's entirely unique."

Jack took a big bite out of his BLT and spoke through his food,

"Okaysh. Gesshing doww oo buisnuss. Whu's the firssh thing we doin' when we geeh back?"

"Er. The gardening, I guess, before it gets too hot for that. Get those plants in the ground and stuff."

"Yeash, good idea. Then we can get that damn wall painted."

" Woah, hold on a sec. You never said anything about painting, Jack."

"Yeah I did! . . . didn't I?"

"No. You didn't."

"Well, I am now. Don't worry, it won't take that long. It's just, the guest bedroom needs revamping. It's been a storage room for all my boxes and crap for years, I've been meaning to get around and fixing it up."

"What for?" Daniel asked curiously, as he worked through half of his French Dip sandwich.

"Are you expecting company or something? . . . renting the room out?"

Jack laughed.

"No. You actually think anyone would be crazy enough to want to live in that mess? Mostly I just want the crap cleared out of there. It's depressing every time I walk by it. So if I make the room all pretty I'll have a harder time screwing it up again."

"Aah. Clever tactic."

Jack nodded, sipping his Coke.

"You have to know how to outsmart yourself."

Daniel murmured off-handedly, "That shouldn't be too difficult for you."

"I heard that!" Jack snapped, pointing an accusing finger at a smirking Dr. Jackson.

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Daniel gazed up at the wall in front of him as he adjusted the metal ladder.

"Shouldn't we tape up the corners on this one or something?"

Jack grunted from his position, up a ladder against the other wall, wheeling away with the paint-roller.

"Don't bother. 'Swhite paint. Same color as the ceiling . . ."

Daniel shrugged. "Okay." He dipped the roller in the pan of paint, spooged it up, and climbed the ladder to get to work. Bzzzzrt bvvvrrrrt buzwuuuup phuuuuup went the paint rollers. Daniel winced as a fine spray of white paint coated his face, spraying off the roller when he tried rolling the wall directly above his head. Fortunately he had been smart enough to already remove his glasses and put them somewhere safe.

"Uff. You better make this worth my while, Jack," he threatened, half serious.

"Huh?" The man was concentrating hard on his work.

"Make what worth your while?"

Daniel glanced over at Jack and the Colonel instantly chuckled at the paint-sprayed face.

"Don't you worry, Danny. I'll make sure to get equally dirty when I'm doing your chores tomorrow. One good turn deserves another right?"

"Mm. Thanks for the reassurance."

It didn't take the two of them very long to cover most of the four walls in the modestly-sized bedroom. They switched to carrying paint in paper cups with smaller paint-brushes so they could work on the edging. Standing on the final step of the ladder, Daniel reached up to work on the edging near the ceiling.

"Uh. Daniel, I don't think you're supposed to stand there."

"You don't expect me to sit on your shoulders to do this, do you?"

Jack pointed at the step with his paint-brush.

"But you're violating the warning sticker's command."

Daniel snorted.

"You dare scoff at the Warning Sticker?" Jack asked in mock disbelief, careful to speak in capitals. Daniel peered down a moment and then leaned all the way down, a rather precarious move, grabbed the head of the ladder in one hand, and reached over with his paint brush. He lifted one foot and then the other, swiping the sticker in white paint until it disappeared.

"There. Better?"

"Much."

Daniel leaned back up on the ladder, nearly losing his balance trying to hold the paint cup in one hand and the brush in the other, so Jack made sure to grab a leg to ensure he didn't go careening down.

"Ahem. Shouldn't you be painting instead of worrying about me?" Daniel asked, pretending he didn't notice his near slip.

Jack rolled his eyes and crouched down on the floor, working on the edge that met with the floor. He decided that if he worked directly under Daniel then at least Jack's spine would break his fall should he slip. Unfortunately it also put him at risk for other hazards. A few minutes later Jack frowned when he felt a few wet dribbles hit his scalp like raindrops. Reaching into his hair he pulled white paint off with his fingers, just like he feared.

"Watchit, Daniel! You're dripping all over me."

"Oh. Sorry."

Jack did the best he could dodging the paint-drops, though it occasionally still drizzled white paint down on him. They worked like this across the room for some time. Jack eventually had to get up and give his poor knees a break from this torment, and when he looked down at himself noticed he was neatly polka-dotted with enough white spots to pass as a snow leopard.

"Danny! You're a bit sloppy, you know."

"Am not! I keep brushing the extra off on the side of the cup. I haven't been spilling."

Jack glanced up to his work partner and his eyes widened in concern.

"Hey! You're getting paint on my pants! C'mon Dan, cut it out! I'm gonna need to get you a smock or something."

Daniel gave him an annoyed look.

"Jack, you loaned me these because you said they were junk pants! I assume that meant they could get dirty!"

"I know, but I didn't want you to turn them into white denim, a few blotches here and there is one thing, but you're swimming in it!"

Daniel made a dismissive exhaling sound and continued with his trimming.

"Oh, ignore me, will you?"

"They aren't that dirty, Jack. Relax."

Jack growled and grabbed ahold of Daniel's ass firmly in one hand. Daniel immediately froze. It took several tries but then he was able to ask in a nervous tone,

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don't forget what's mine," Jack replied in a gravelly voice. Daniel realized he was sweeping his paint brush over the seat of his pants. The Colonel etched a sloppy but legible 'JACK O'NIELL' on the pants, let go and looked up expectantly at Daniel.

"Uh. I can't really read that, you realize."

"But everyone else can."

Daniel looked over his shoulder and strained to read what was written on his butt. He wasn't very successful and it hurt his neck.

"Jack, what's it say?"

"Just answered your own question."

"Huh?" He frowned and lifted an arm up, trying to get a better angle to see. Then he gave an irritated sigh.

"What did you write?!"

Jack raised both his brows at Daniel, grinning evilly up at him.

"What do you think, Daniel?"

Dr. Jackson shook it off.

"Whatever, Jack. I don't care what you write on your own pants."

"That's fine with me. As long as we've established they're mine."

Daniel sighed again in annoyance.

"Okay, would you like me to give your pants back now, Jack?"

"No-no, that's okay, Daniel. You can wear them. I can have them back later. Hey I'm gonna go get some chips and something to drink, I'll be right back. You want anything?"

"A soda if there's any left."

"Okay."

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