Inescapable: Chapter 25

AN: Disclaimers et al in chapter 1. Again, this is horribly short, but life is also horribly getting in the way, I'm straight out of exams and now working every hour God gives me so this leaves little time for writing. I have also left this storyhanging, unforgivably, for a long time but I do plan to finish. Apologies for any spelling mistakes etc, I dont have a beta!

Walter hesitated slightly outside the General's door, his hand shakily wavering over the door knob. He gazed at the shiny silver object, which, if he turned, was sure to begin a sequence of movements that would have knots twisting in his stomach. Rumours had been circulating, or rather whizzing about that the General was retiring and even more interestingly, that he was retiring because of a certain, as of yet, off limits Lieutenant Colonel. Rumours that Walter himself would vow he had absolutely nothing to do with. Sure, he may have let slip to Major Colins what he heard in the General's office two days ago but nope, absolutely nothing to do with the juicy rumours that were presently entertaining the entire SGC. Nothing at all. So he had nothing to fear… but then, it was very apparent that General O'Neill was not in the best of moods since that day, and Walter ached to know why. So, his present predicament had him faced with some serious hostility should he turn the door knob.

Maybe I should ask Siler if--

The door suddenly swung open with a merciless yank and a bark followed. "What!"

Uhoh, Walter uttered silently as he stared wide eyed and more than a little frightened at one General O'Neill situated less than a hair's breadth from his nose.

"Uh…" What was the excuse he had concocted when he had so foolishly decided to come here in the first place? It had come so easily to him earlier, as often did reasons to bother the General. Presently, he was beginning to curse that particularly prominent piece of his persona.

"Walter! You've been loitering out here for ten minutes!" He snapped. Loitering? He hadn't been loitering! Walter blinked and the General's hand rising made him jolt, his own arm flew up defensively, instinctively and when it was halfway up he soon sheepishly realised that the General was now waving the hand back and forth in front of his face. He absently smoothed his hand into a motion that pushed his glasses up instead. O'Neill only frowned angrily at him and stopped the waving. "So were you deciding if I needed a new colour doorknob or…" he paused, pulling a satirical grin. "… or are you here with some more happy news to top off my day? Has B'aal dropped by? Apophis risen from dead again?" His eyebrows wiggled in impatient questioning. Walter's mind was really trying to focus on excuses, any excuse… "Don't tell me, there are no doughnuts left?"

Doughnuts! Ureka! Food!

"Food!" He squealed, a finger thrusting in the air triumphantly as O'Neill glared at him strangely, probably wondering whether to slap Walter because he annoyed him or because he was acting crazy… probably because he simply wanted to. "Uh… I mean, I need you to look at food… the food… uh, sir." Walter cleared his throat and feeling the General's breath on his face and while attempting not to blink ferociously at the narrowing eyes boring into him, he so wished he could just put the smallest amount of space between them.

"Don't we generally, eat food, Walter?" He asked.

It was time to form a structured sentence. Walter was certain he could do it… if only he could just take a step back. "Yes, sir, very good, sir." The General's right eyebrow rose quizzically and his lips fell ajar. Walter hurried, "I need you to oversee the menu for Friday, sir." There it was, one little sentence that would have been his saviour about three or four blunders earlier. He bit back the urge to sigh with little effort.

"Friday?" He asked, confused and possibly forgetting his initial anger in the midst of it. Walter chanced an infinitesimal heartening smile. "What is it, Tapas day or something?"

Oh, how he wished he could see this reaction in advance. "For the President, sir."

"The President? Why in the hell am I overseeing the President's culinary delights! Doesn't Washington think I have enough asses to wipe? Or will I have to choose his toilet… paper…oh, crap…" A hand went to the General's face as revelation set in and Walter had to glance to the floor because of the grin that was twisting his lips.

"He's coming on Friday, sir. There was a--"

"Memo, yes, Walter." O'Neill bit, knowing full well the last statement was merely for the Sergeant's amusement.

"Shall I leave the menu with you, sir?"

The General blinked at him and sighed heavily. "No." He stepped away and turned for his office, leaving Walter momentarily panicked that he would have to decide himself! It wasn't his job, what if he screwed it up? Then O'Neill's head turned over his shoulder just as he reached for the door. "He likes steaks. That's all I can give you." When Walter continued to stand there O'Neill made a shooing gesture with his hands and with a quickly expanding uneasiness Walter stepped backwards. Just before the door slammed in his face he heard, "Just don't kill him with food poisoning." Walter scowled at the door and rubbed the tip of his nose, wondering if the door had grazed it.

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