Jack's place - 1998

The front door slammed with a heavy thud, and Jack tossed his keys onto the counter with a deep sigh. The mission had been a success, a miracle pulled off by SG-1 with Bra'tac's invaluable help. They'd saved Earth, and the President was eternally grateful.

Jack briefly thought about how little that meant to him.

The only upside was that Kinsey would leave them alone for a while. Yet, as he flicked on a lamp in the living room and dropped onto the couch, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that the situation was far from victorious.

She had agreed to follow the team on a suicide mission; agreed to risk court-martial if they made it out alive. And yet, Nan's ring still sat there in front of him, perched on the coffee table. Selfishly, Jack resented the fact that she was willing to put her career on the line to save the planet, but not for him. It was selfish and childish, but it was how he felt.

If he were to be honest with himself, Jack felt like a fool for thinking he was going to die in Antarctica and giving her the key to the safe. If Sam had never seen that ring, they wouldn't be in this mess now. Because really, what had he been hoping for? Ring or no ring, their careers remained the same, and the outcome was still impossible.

A snake eating its own tail—rather fitting, considering they spent their days hunting those damn snakes.

He'd been hard on her during the mission. Sharp in his remarks; pushing her harder than necessary, and now he regretted it. In the end, the non-fraternization rule only prevented physical closeness, but it changed nothing in the field. How was he supposed to stop being in love with her? How was he supposed to compartmentalize when she already occupied so much space in his mind? No amount of military training could ever change the fact that, when it came to Samantha Carter, his heart and his brain seemed to act in unison—stupidly.

With another sigh, Jack considered getting up to grab the bottle of whiskey and drown his feelings. However, the front door opened at that moment, revealing Daniel, his arms loaded with steaming pizza boxes, their smell making Jack's stomach growl.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, surprised to see him.

"Jack," the archaeologist replied, heading toward the kitchen.

"Daniel?" Jack repeated, still unsure what was happening.

"Jack," his friend echoed without turning to him. "Are you hungry? Because I'm starving."
Abandoning any attempt to understand what Space Monkey was doing at his house, Jack grabbed some plates and beers, settling at the counter across from his friend. They chatted for a few minutes, and Daniel slowly steered the conversation toward the recent mission and his return to Earth through the Stargate while the rest of SG-1 and Bra'tac returned by ship.

"The President felt guilty for not listening to me in time when I raised the alarm," Daniel explained. "He said I could ask for whatever I wanted."

Jack raised an eyebrow, taking a swig of his beer. "So, what did you ask for? Scientific acknowledgment of all your texts? Unlimited access to every library in the world?" He paused dramatically. "No, wait, I've got it—a galactic library! Because, of course, the Goa'uld would *love* us building a little reading corner next to their pyramids."

Smiling slightly, Daniel pulled an envelope from his pocket, placed it on the table, and nudged it toward Jack with his fingertips. "I asked for this."

Jack eyed the envelope curiously before opening it, glancing at Daniel one last time. As he read the letter inside, his head snapped up abruptly. "You're not serious?"

The archaeologist shrugged. "He was stuck when he realized he couldn't say no, considering I could ask for literally *anything* I wanted."

"But why…?" Jack asked, scratching the back of his neck. "You could've had access to everything you've ever dreamed of."

They exchanged a loaded look, and Daniel leaned forward to grab another slice of pizza before answering, his mouth half-full. "Why not? I told him it would solve a lot of issues at the SGC. That my civilian perspective challenges the purely military approach."

Silence hung between them. Jack got lost in thought for a moment before pushing the letter back toward his friend. "It won't change anything," he said plainly.

Holding back an eye roll, Daniel removed his glasses and took his time cleaning them with an exaggerated motion. After sliding them back onto his nose, he looked at Jack again. "Oh, yeah? Well, even with clean glasses, I still see a giant chicken sitting in front of me."

"Daniel," Jack growled.

"Jack," Daniel replied, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Daniel."

"Jack? You save the world from an alien attack, but you're a total chicken when it comes to this. Admit it."

With a frustrated grunt, Jack suddenly stood from his chair. "I'll show you a chicken."

Daniel watched his friend storm out of the house, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Black Ops training, Black Ops training," he muttered to himself as he moved to the couch, making himself comfortable. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and took another sip of beer. "A little reverse psychology, and he'll do whatever you want."