So I stepped out of the wormhole expecting bright blue skies and ocean breezes, only to find myself facing a harshly-lit gateroom and a squad of Marines with weapons drawn. Not my best day. The quip I'd aimed at Teal'c died on my tongue. "Goodbye?" I could feel the ramp give with every boot fall as my team stepped onto the metallic surface, each coming to an abrupt halt behind me.
Standing at the base of the ramp, the General looked expectant, as though he were waiting for an explanation that I was deliberately withholding. "Stand down." The jarheads complied as one, and he turned his attention on my face.
"What happened?" He seemed curious, edging toward impatient, but not quite to the pissed off stage yet, which was a good sign. How bad could it be?
"What happened?" I repeated. Not my brightest moment, but I was trying to buy a little time and 'bland and low-key' had always worked for me before.
"That's what I just asked you. Will someone please explain?"
"General," Carter piped up. Such a good second. "We just left. We went through the gate and we came back... here."
"Major, you've been gone over fifteen hours."
See? No real recrimination there, just a statement of fact. Hammond's a good man.
Wait. Fifteen hours?
I'd have sworn on a case of Guinness that we'd just finished walking up this ramp not five minutes ago, headed for that lovely beach place with all the mineral survey Carter could ask for... But a concerted effort at recall wasn't handing me any memories of the calming azure seas we'd been promised, nor of trudging through the powdery white sand the MALP had shown us earlier.
Crap. Missing time, and a lot of it. Yeah, that's how you know it's going to be a bad day, right there.
<><><><>
A couple of hours in the infirmary and a briefing later, Doc Fraiser's tests found the tiny mechanical bastard deep in the wrinkly bits of each of our heads. We didn't know it at that point, but its name was Urgo, and it looked a lot like Pavarotti's goofy younger brother.
The damned AI had made itself at home, poking around inside our brains, making suggestions, lowering inhibitions, enhancing our enjoyment of even the simplest experience, and just generally being a pain in the ass. Which was fine, as long as we were talking about the dessert du jour. But when it started unraveling the very fabric of the carefully woven pretense I'd worn every day for the last three-plus decades, that was going too far.
Because thanks to Urgo, I'd gotten an eyeful. In my mind. A mindful, maybe. Daniel --stark naked, knees up, feet spread, curling up into a half-crunch on the bed-- shooting all over his chest and belly in a soundless grimace of such obvious ecstasy that it gave me a nearly instantaneous sympathy woody. And that was all just a couple of miles past too far, because some things you just can't un-see, even when you actually haven't seen them, y'know?
I figure he must've gone straight to his on-base quarters, stripped down and started to spank the monkey the minute the briefing was over, because I began to get the bleed-through about ten minutes into the report I'd holed up in my office to read. I'd made it to his floor and was halfway to his room to join him --report still in my hand-- before I came to my senses and turned left instead of right into the safety of the commissary, with my own personal airman guarding my six. I got a piece of pie, but what I really wanted was a cigarette, because I was still getting the Daniel Channel loud and clear and he was laying back, breathing hard, smearing that lovely warm jizz all over his ballsac with both hands. Jesus. My mouth was watering; I could practically smell it.
Other than the exquisite level of detail, it wasn't really an odd occurrence for me, fantasizing about Daniel, so that wasn't the disturbing part. What had me on edge was the fact that I'd never come so close to actually doing something about it before, and that made me more than a little nervous. I pride myself on my self-control, and as I sat there in the commissary trying to understand the words on the page in front of me, that control was slipping badly.
But even if I'd known Urgo was behind this new development, it wasn't something I really wanted to mention to Hammond, was it? Ah, General? I seem to be having visions of one of the members of my team engaged in some smokin' hot self-abuse, sir. Just thought you should know.
And I also couldn't see myself running it past Daniel, either. It wasn't like I could offer the man a beer and casually say, So, I see you prefer the 'backhand, thumb-down grip' when you whack off. That's one of my favorites, too.
Yeah, I decided to keep it all to myself for the time being, at least until I could get a little... distance from the situation. So I proceeded to pretend to read that report while I downed some empty calories to pass the time.
I took a bite of the pie --displacement, much? It was pumpkin, not a particular favorite, but the minute it hit my tongue, I forgot all about Daniel and my inappropriate lust, because it was the best thing I'd ever eaten in my life. Luxuriously creamy and just spicy enough filling in a crust that was --surprisingly-- not cardboard.
I should probably feel bad that I was cheating on him with snacks.
Before I knew it, I'd gobbled up that piece and ordered a dozen more of all varieties, telling the steward to keep'em coming.
I'd just finished a piece of fragrant Dutch apple pie and was halfway through a cup of vanilla yogurt, when the rest of my team started piling into the commissary and without so much as a by-your-leave, they set about devouring my stash. To the one, they were amazed by the extraordinary sensory experience, cut brutally short by the order to report to the infirmary once again for more scans and other tests.
<><><><>
"That thing's in all of us?" Daniel asked.
"I'm afraid so," Doc Fraiser replied.
The reveal was followed by immediate group quarantine in ISO 22. Damn it. The only bright side was that since the four of us were in the same room, at least Daniel would be keeping his hands where I could see them, and his dick where I couldn't, while I contemplated this newest turn of events.
When Urgo finally materialized about ten minutes into our enforced incarceration, all plump and be-draped three hundred and fifty pounds of him, I put two and two together and came up with dishonorable discharge; it just figured I'd get outted by some stupid alien device that wouldn't stop giggling.
"No, you are not dreaming," he said with all due seriousness.
"You can read our thoughts?" Daniel fairly squeaked. I'm sure he was thinking the same thing I was - that if this thing hadn't instigated the monkey-spanking, he'd sure as shit watched him do it, and either way, it was creepy as hell.
"Don't panic," he said, holding up a placating hand. "Just the thoughts you're having at the moment."
Mayday, Mayday. As Carter launched into her current theory to explain the fat guy in the room using words of five syllables or more, I deliberately sent my brain into what I could remember of the last movie we'd watched on team bonding night, just in case Hugo here--
"Who is Mary Steenburgen?"
Yeah, just snuck by that one. Thank you, Back to the Future.
<><><><>
A couple of hours, three vials of blood each, and yet another briefing later, the general consensus seemed to be that FatGuy couldn't make us do things, just make suggestions, and enhance the sensory rewards as motivation and encouragement to perform the pleasurable activities more often and for a longer time. But when Teal'c caved so spectacularly to the suggestion of using the defibrillator on himself...? Yeah, I wasn't all that reassured that any of us had any free will --or any privacy-- left.
And that was a very, very bad thing.
Carter set out to try to find a way to shut the damned thing off, and when she snapped at Urgo and hurt his feelings, he started following me.
It was exhausting, trying to filter out his constant yammering, and at the same time, fill my mind with nonsense crap, so he didn't get any unfortunate bleed over from my thoughts. Better to let him think I was mooning over B-movie actresses than some of the other stuff in my head. I was drawing on all my experience resisting torture, in order to push the real stuff so far down that it couldn't accidentally come bubbling up under his relentless probing. Giving him harmless, not-even remotely-Daniel-related thoughts, just to keep this grinning AI from outing me, was just about all-consuming.
And it was starting to really piss me off, thinking about just how severely screwed we all were. All the command codes had been compromised. This alien --however artificial-- now knew the layout of the SGC, our strengths, our weaknesses, the vigor of our country's combined military, the overall political state of the entire fucking planet, the fact that every country was suspicious of every other. It was enough intel to give a bad guy with a little power, oh, like, getting inside people's heads, the ability to gain a foothold. We were ripe for takeover.
"I don't wanna take anything over," he whined. "I just wanna have some fun, that's all. You seem a little tense-- Hey! How about we think up some games to play? You really should learn to relax, y'know."
"I can't relax," I snapped, annoyed that he'd gotten that much out of me. "It's my job to resist you, to keep this base secure. How do I know you aren't the front line, the point of a rearguard that'll take out this base and compromise my planet?"
I advanced on him, as though I could drill my point into him with the tip of my finger against a plump shoulder, but he wasn't the least bit intimidated, and it pissed me off even further when my hand went all the way through him.
"Keeping you out of my head, keeping you from getting the sensitive information that would put every man and woman of this command at risk, is pretty much all I can think about right now," I growled.
He rolled his eyes at me. "But all of that sounds really boring. I'm not interested in any of that stuff. I just wanna have fun. Y'know. Doing fun stuff?"
"Fine! Go eat more pie! Try the meatloaf. That's an experience and a half."
He placed his hands across his ample middle. "No thanks, I couldn't eat another bite, really."
"Then go bother Teal'c."
"Mmmm... No, I'd rather not. JaffaJaffa has two speeds-- violent death and dismemberment, and kel-no-BOR-RING."
I sighed. Couldn't really argue with that assessment. "Why don't you see if you can entice Major Carter into trying a different flavor of Jell-O?"
He drew himself up straight, as though taking umbrage at my suggestion on her behalf. "Samantha is very, very smart. She also thinks in black and white and believes that math formulas are beautiful."
"They are, to her. And that's okay."
"And boring." He flapped one hand at me, dismissing the subject of Carter. "Now, your Daniel Jackson is a very interesting and vibrant man. He thinks in colors and textures, and he thinks about you. A lot."
"That's enough," I said tightly.
"Don't you want to know--"
"NO!" I bellowed. It made sense that the glimpse I'd gotten of the X-rated Daniel Channel, I'd gotten from him. "I don't wanna know anything about what Daniel's thoughts are! Or any of my other team members, for that matter. Haven't you ever heard of privacy? As in: private, no admittance. As in: the freedom to wank in peace and without an audience--"
"Wank? Is that what you call it? He seemed to find it very pleasurable. Do you wank? Do you think about Dan--"
"Will you STOP it? A man deserves to have some uninterrupted quality time with his right hand!"
"I noticed that sometimes he uses his left ha--"
"I don't CARE!"
"That bulge in your pants," he turned his eyes to my crotch in a frank stare, "and your increased heart rate say you do. C'mon, what's the harm in a little friendly wank?"
"Urgo--" I snarled. My frustration at not being able to punch him until he stopped running his damned mouth, was making my head pound.
"Oh hey! Better yet! How about we go find Daniel, and you can wank together? Wouldn't that be fun? Do you think Jaffas wank? I'm pretty sure even your General Hammond--"
I slammed my hands over my ears, but the trouble with that solution is that this bastard's inside my head and the damage was already done. I'm gonna need some brain bleach for that little suggestion. Sorry, General.
The strategy of whoever programmed this weapon --and I firmly believe that the image which looks to be standing in my office is indeed a weapon-- is a brilliant, two-pronged attack. The constant stream of verbal incontinence, calculated to erode your will and judgment, combined with the child-like personality, clearly designed to charm his victims into underestimating him, along with feelings that can be hurt if he doesn't get his way. It's a devastatingly wearing combination on the psyche. If the Iraqis had had something like this--
"Oooh!" he exclaimed. "I think your Daniel is getting ready to wank again. Let's go see - maybe we can help him with the wanking!"
He was making a compelling case. My dick was hard and trapped at an uncomfortable angle that I was afraid to rearrange while he was standing there, for fear that I wouldn't be able to resist the touch of my own hand. No way was I going to give him a show.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath while he chattered on. I tried turning my back on him, but he just popped back in front of me. I closed my eyes, but that just made the chattering louder somehow. There was no escaping him.
"Come on," he wheedled, "we're gonna miss it!"
I thought my jaw was going to snap from grinding my teeth so hard. "No, Urgo!" Subject matter notwithstanding, I felt like I was trying to chastise a bouncy four year old. "There are rules here," I said tightly. "And the first one is that wanking is strictly private. A solo endeavor only. There are harsh penalties if you're caught watching someone doing it--"
"Really? That doesn't seem fair. I mean, what does it hurt? I think it's beautiful. More beautiful that math formulas. He feels the same way you do, y'know."
My mouth fell open at that point, I know it did. He'd taken me completely by surprise and nothing he could've said would've stunned me more. Let it go. Think about it later. Move on. Where the hell was I? I looked away, hoping to hide my discomfort. "It doesn't matter how he feels; he's a civilian, no one cares. The fact is, I'm not allowed to have those kinds of feelings, or to even talk about those kinds of feelings. Ever."
"But you do have them," he insisted earnestly. "I know you do. I think you love him. Which makes a lotta sense, 'cause he loves you too, he's just afraid to say anything 'cause he thinks you're straight. What is that? What is 'straight'? Is it better than being un-straight? Bent - is that what you call un-straight? Which is better, straight or bent? Oh, come on," he cajoled, raising one pudgy hand up to his face, fingers poised close together, "just one itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny little peek?"
I turned my head slowly to level the full force of my hatred in his direction. The corresponding reaction as his grinning countenance slipped into one of fear was gratifying. I wanted to kill this nattering old man, and I made sure my expression and body language left no doubt of that. I would happily have snapped his neck for the threat he posed to my command, for the pain in the ass he was to me personally, and for his careless treatment of my friend.
"You want a peek at something?" I asked him quietly. "You want an experience? How's this--" I let my thoughts picture a mission long ago that had gone spectacularly wrong, and made sure it was the living color version that often woke me up at night in a cold sweat. "I had a pretty bad day in East Germany in '82. A lotta good guys bought it on that operation. Lotta bad guys too. You wanna know what it feels like to take a life with your bare hands, Urgo? To watch someone's eyes as their life passes before them, all the things they're never going to do or be as they take the last breath you're going to allow them to have? You want to take a peek inside my head right now?"
Urgo's fat face had lost all its color and animation just before he winked out, and for the first time since we'd come back missing those fifteen hours, I felt totally, blissfully, alone.
<><><><>
Urgo popped in just after I reached climax.
He was upset to the point of tears because Jack was being mean to him. If I hadn't been busy trying to catch my breath following another stunning orgasm, I might've been able to sympathize. Jack can be terrifying when it suits him, and I'd felt the sting of his sharp tongue on many occasions myself. He can be such as ass, sometimes, that it makes me wonder how I could possibly have fallen for him.
Still, as I lay there panting and wrung out among the ruined sheets of my on-base quarters, my chest and belly gleaming with a substantial coating of sweat and lube and rapidly cooling jizz that was probably going to take an industrial strength degreaser to cut through, I was even more wired than when I started. Listening while Urgo whined and paced and wrung his hands, totally oblivious to my debauched condition and supreme disinterest in his problems--
"...and I told him you were wanking, and we were gonna miss it if he didn't hurry, but all he wanted to talk about was something called Germany--"
"Wait! You told Jack I was--"
"Wanking? Oh, certainly, yeah. And I told him you think about him while you do the wanking and since you both feel love for each other, you should wank together to celebrate that, but then he yelled at m--"
But I'd tuned him out at that point, because he'd told Jack I was in love with him, blowing several year's worth of careful obfuscation designed to keep such incriminating information from the very person he'd blabbed it to. And then it sank in that apparently Jack has feelings for me too, and that thought immediately wrapped right around both of my testicles and squeezed. Before I knew it, my sticky hand was sliding back down between my abundantly creamed thighs as though I were completely alone. I spread my legs so I could smooth my cooling release all over my balls with both hands, reveling in the gloriously slippery sensations as my eyes fell closed, blocking Urgo out completely.
I'd been hard since we landed in the gateroom, complete with this irritating, restless vibration in my brain, like some kind of continuous, low-voltage Zat charge I couldn't escape. When the hard-on didn't fade on its own, I ducked into my quarters and stripped. I hoped that if I rubbed one out real quick, I might be able to get rid of both the annoying erection as well as the prickly buzz in my brain. But once I'd started touching myself, I'd gotten lost in the sensations, edging close and then backing off, again and again and again, just for the sheer joy of the feel of my own hand on my skin.
Even after it was obvious that Urgo was behind the heightened sensations, I couldn't seem to stop.
And this one felt even better, because now, Jack was more than just an invisible lust object I masturbated to. Urgo had seen or heard something that made him believe that Jack wanted me too, and that knowledge was unbelievably hot and sent the low hum into a supernova. I hefted my still-firm dick and gave it a pull, running my thumb across the slippery head, totally uncaring that Urgo was still standing there talking.
"Uhgh, yeah..." I groaned, tightening up for a second pass that promised to be every bit as powerful as the first. "Jack... suck me..."
<><><><>
Carter spent about an hour being especially brilliant and rigged up some kind of EM pulse thingy, which seemed to do the trick. The peace and quiet lasted about a week of boring, base living --which, thankfully, didn't include group quarantine-- before Urgo made his presence known with his little Row, Row, Row Your Boat stunt. I do NOT sing. And now there's video proof of that, thanks so much.
All of which left us no alternative but to get in touch with his creators, the thought of which seemed to terrify the crap out of him, but was a long time coming in my book, because I just wanted five minutes alone with the fuckers.
The whole time we were gearing up to contact the race who'd created him, Urgo kept casting distrustful peeks my way, probably afraid of what other nasty things might be running through my head. I couldn't feel too bad about that because it meant I also wasn't getting a personal earful of his prattling, either. Carter, on the other hand, seemed to want to adopt the irritating pest.
And Daniel... The shy, furtive glances he was shooting my way had me worried that he knew something was up. But he was being his usual fair and open-minded self, arguing that the AI had achieved sentience, petitioning for mercy for the damned thing. If he only knew what Urgo had done to him. More than just a peeping tom, because he'd dragged me into it too, an unwilling accomplice to Daniel's outing.
And yeah, it was beautiful. He was beautiful. And those explicit snapshots were now seared into my brain for all time. More than just pleasantly pornographic, because the annoying little twerp was right, I've been in love with Daniel for a while now.
How the hell was I supposed to keep up the business-as-usual pretense with those kinds of images in my head? More importantly, how was I supposed to keep my own libido in check now that I had it from a pretty knowledgeable source that Daniel's feelings toward me went beyond those of a mere teammate and friend?
And how was I supposed to do my job, when every time I looked at him, I was reminded of everything I could never have?
I caught the fat man's eye and indicated he should follow me out of the gear-up room. "I've got to get something from my office," I told the others. "I'll meet you in the gateroom in five."
<><><><>
"Now, Urgo," I said impatiently, glancing around my empty office. "I don't have all day."
"I don't wanna," a disembodied voice said. "You'll just be mean to me again."
I rolled my eyes and bit down on the instinctive urge to bark an order. "I won't be mean to you," I assured him as calmly as I could. "I just need to know one thing." On further consideration, I amended, "Two things."
He popped in behind me. "I love this game! We can take turns!"
His expression was open, hopeful that we could play and be friends. "Sorry pal, no time for games; I need intel. Whether or not you realize it, you violated Daniel's privacy pretty badly by broadcasting his personal actions to the whole team--"
His eyes grew wide. "I didn't broadcast anything to the team."
"Just to me, then?"
"Not to anybody."
He was the very picture of innocence. I was starting to believe that he really didn't have the capacity to lie. "Then how was I able to receive the, the---"
"Wanking?"
"Yeah, that."
"I don't know." Then his face brightened. "Should we ask Samantha?"
"No!" I shouted. "Just don't--" I squeezed the back of my neck, right where a headache was starting to bloom. Think, O'Neill. You used to be able to do that before you started relying on Carter and Daniel all the time. "Okay, maybe you're just a, a, a-- conduit somehow. How'd you get my team into the commissary?"
"I didn't."
"I ate the pie," I countered. "You made me eat the pie."
"No, I didn't. I didn't know anything about pie before you ate it." He grinned and clapped his hands together. "Wasn't it delicious, though? A terrific invention. I'm sure we didn't get to taste all the different--"
"And then you sent for my team," I prompted tightly. I could feel his mental nudge to return to the commissary for another round of goodies, and I needed him to stay on track.
"No, I didn't," he repeated sincerely. "Maybe you did."
"I did? How?"
"I don’t exactly know." He grimaced nervously, and then shrugged a hefty shoulder. "You ate the pie. You liked the pie. You liked it a lot, right? Because it was so yummy! Who wouldn’t like it? I mean, it's so good, I think everybody should--"
And then it dawned. "After the second bite, I thought, got to tell the kids about the great pie today..."
He was beaming. "There, ya'see? You thought about them, and they came!"
I just stared at him. "So that means..."
"I TOLD you," he said triumphantly, pudgy face fairly rippling with joy. "When Daniel does the wanking, he thinks about you!"
My eyes slammed shut, as if I could avoid another run-through of the scene in question. With the damage restricted to just me, though, it was fixable. I was counting on his obvious affection for Daniel to enlist his cooperation on undoing this mess.
"All right, Urgo," I said firmly, "here's what I need you to do--"
<><><><>
Although none of us can remember any of it, our second trip to Togar's planet must've been successful, because Janet assures us we're all clean, healthy and devoid of alien AIs, and all without me having to own up to my new superpower. The ability to orgasm repeatedly, seemingly without refractory concerns, was admittedly enjoyable, but that doesn't mean I would've been happy about having to admit it out loud to the Base CMO.
But now that Urgo's set up housekeeping with Togar, I suppose the superpower is likewise history. Probably just as well. I'd spent most of the time I wasn't otherwise quarantined or in briefings, jerking off until I was chaffed and nearly cross-eyed. I'm exhausted.
Also simultaneously creeped out and grateful. I'm not sure if masturbating in front of an AI counts exhibitionism or not. I mean, he didn't seem to be paying much attention to me because he was so upset at Jack, but who knows how many of the other times he did pay attention and I just didn't see him? I figured it didn't really matter since he wasn't actually there; more a figment of my own imagination, really.
I felt better for about two seconds, until I remembered that the cameras in my quarters probably saw everything. Hopefully, whichever tech was watching was too distracted by the show to read my lips as I came...
Thanks to Urgo spilling the beans, my self-imposed state of denial is over. I wish I'd been able to keep my hands off my dick long enough to ask him what Jack thought about the revelation. Was he interested enough to take things to the next level? Obviously, I'm going to have to ask him, since none of my subtle, 'come hither' looks have gotten his attention so far.
<><><><>
The fat bastard set me up. Stuck me in the Urgo-be-gone machine right next to Daniel on purpose, I'm sure of it. The moment the beam released us, Daniel was giving me flirty looks over his shoulder that needed no interpretation. By the time we got back to the SGC, the flirting had graduated to searing lust that should've ignited all the oxygen tanks in the infirmary.
It's pretty obvious from Daniel's expression that Urgo didn't purge our memories as I asked him to. Not only that, but it seems as though he let the cat outta the bag about the feelings being mutual, and now, my private little problem is on the verge of going public.
Clearly, there will be talking.
Dilemma: Have this little gem of a discussion here on base, where anyone could walk by and overhear, or have it anywhere else, where anything could happen? Because now that I know it's mutual, I don't stand a chance against the blue-eyed, one-man debate team. I'm probably better off doing this in the office I keep denying I have. At least there'll be cameras there; no sound, but the ever-blinking red eye of big brother should keep us both in line.
Because this can't happen. I won't allow it, there's too much at stake.
<><><><>
After the longest post-mission checkup in recorded history, Janet finally released us to go home for the first time in ten days. I caught up to Jack in the locker room, but just barely, it looks like. "So," I say brightly. "Three days' downtime." Very smooth. And I call myself a linguist.
"Yep."
Cramming my hands into my pockets to try to look as relaxed as possible, I take a deep breath and try again. "I-um. Think we should talk, don't you?"
He looks up from tying his shoes and purses his lips. "Probably so," he says, regarding his footwear again, taking exquisite care to make sure the loops are perfectly even.
"Jack," I say softly, in deference to the others in the vicinity. "You're killing me, here."
He stands and slams the locker closed, his eyes just glancing across mine. "Follow me."
He's two strides ahead of me before the words sink in, and I hurry to follow him out of the locker room, trying hard to look very normal and not at all desperate. But instead of stopping in front of the elevator, he takes a left at the next T-junction, past the storage room I lost my mind in once, and then right into a cramped little office. "Um--?"
His hand darts out and smacks the light switch, and the room is flooded with a harsh fluorescent glare. He drops heavily into the chair behind the cluttered desk, with it's neat little collection of yo-yos lined up across the front, and then leans back in the chair. His ass settles into the depths of the seat, and he shifts his weight just enough so that he's so completely reclined, and has to hold up his neck at an unnatural angle in order to meet my gaze.
His expression is carefully, calculatingly blank as he says, "Close the door, wouldya?"
"This... wasn't really what I had in mind," I say as I do as he's asked, glancing pointedly over my shoulder at the ever-present camera. "Can we... even do this here?" And the tilt of his head tells me all I need to know.
"It's for the best," Jack says calmly. He motions to the one visitor's chair and I take it, my belly filling with dread.
He opens his mouth to say something sensible that will end this even before it starts, but I head him off. "So... is this where we polish up our denial suits and go our separate ways?"
"Daniel--"
"Hey. If Urgo got it wrong, just tell me, and I'll get outta your hair."
"He got it wrong," he says with perfect ease, and I know he's lying, I feel it in the depths of my soul. I suddenly wish I'd confronted him before we banished Urgo - our own private lie detector. "I'm sorry as hell he invaded your privacy that way," he adds. "I asked him to remove the memories of it while they were doing the de-Urgo-ifying, but--"
"I'm-uh, not surprised he didn't do that, actually." I clear my throat in an effort to force my voice to project a whole lot more confidence than I really feel at the moment. "He was pretty insistent that you and I belonged together."
Jack winces and looks down at the hands in his lap. "I pulled the tape," he says softly. "Erased the last coupla days. I figure we can blame the wrecked film on EM interference from Urgo. The cameras on that floor are on one of the un-manned servers, so chances are no one's seen any of it."
"Have you?"
Grimly, Jack taps his temple. "Here."
"So you know how it ends."
"Daniel--"
"I call your name. Every time." I fold my arms across my chest to attempt to quell my wildly beating heart. I didn't feel this exposed beating off in front of Urgo yesterday.
I know I don't have a lot of time here. I have to make a compelling case to a stubborn man, on why it's a good idea to compromise his oath to his country in order to be with me, and I have to keep my hands to myself while I do it. "Been imagining you in my bed for more than a year now."
"That's--"
"It's not a crush, Jack. I'm in love with you." His eyes close and I see him swallow, and then his jaw tightens. All good signs, piling up points for my side of the argument, and giving me the courage to press on.
"Near as I can figure," I continue, "it happened about the same time I delivered Shar'e's baby. That's when I knew for sure I'd lost her, and I finally allowed myself to admit what I felt for you. I never thought I'd have a chance in hell. I always assumed you were--" straight "out of reach."
"I am."
Interesting choice of words. I know that he means he's tied to the Air Force. If he didn't return my feelings, he'd have come up with a snappy comeback along the lines of, 'not even with a ten foot dick, Danny-boy'. If it's just DADT, hell, I can work with that.
"No," I say softly. "You're not out of reach, you're right here in my heart. So close, I can almost touch you. And what's more, you know that. That's why we're having this conversation here on base. You don't trust yourself to be alone with me."
"Nothing can happen."
My heart soars at what that statement doesn't say, but I keep my jubilation to myself. "It already has."
He looks up then, confused, and now that I have his eyes, he won't be able to hide what he feels from me. I lean forward in the chair, forearms across my knees, hands loosely clasped, intent on the conversation, on getting my point across, but not confrontational in any way. I keep my voice low and even, just laying out the facts as I see them.
"Like it or not, Urgo outted us to each other. He could see deep inside us, beneath all the posturing, the politics and the stupid regulations, and he saw how connected we are. From the beginning, Jack. This place started with us."
We're usually too busy either running for out lives or justifying the expense of our existence to politicians in Washington to dwell on it, but just thinking about how much history and shared experience that idea represents threatens to choke me right up. Because no matter how many teams they add to the roster, or how big the organization ultimately gets, he and I are the heart of it all.
I'm not sure why he's just sitting there, letting me talk, why he hasn't booted me out of his office and off the team. That's what I'm risking here, and I know it. But I can't just let this go, if there's any chance at all for us. I'll talk all night, if that's what it takes, gladly. And I can do it, too. Three times, I've faced the experts in my field of study in review committees so hostile, it would've made system lords cringe, and I know I can defend my new thesis, 'Jack O'Neill Loves Daniel Jackson, He's Just Too Chicken To Say So', standing on my head. Even here on base, in front of security cameras, with my sexuality tied behind my back, because I've never been more sure of anything in my life.
"This wouldn't have upset you the way it has if you didn't care about me."
He scowls. "Of course I care about you, Daniel. You're my friend."
I nod, then frown a little, and add a subtle head-tilt of consideration. "What's the punishment for tampering with the cameras? The official recordings of a top secret military base? What would they do to you if they find out?"
"They won't."
"Still. A risk."
"I take risks every day. It's in the job description."
I allow my expression to soften into an open invitation as I urge quietly, "Then take this one with me."
"I take calculated risks, Daniel. Those with some chance of success--"
"Oh, I think I can guarantee you'll succeed."
He's not meeting my eyes and trying not to smile, and I can feel that victory is nearly in my grasp. "C'mon," I wheedle. "You want me. Urgo said."
He grunts. "Are we in high school now?"
"No," I say reasonably, "if we were in high school, I'd be underneath your desk, convincing you with my mouth. But this is a bustling, well-manned installation, and we have no guarantee of privacy. Therefore, I'm trying to use some decorum, while I negotiate my way into your pants." I lean back and casually steeple my hands across my stomach. "I'm willing to make concessions, y'know."
He snorts, amused in spite of his earlier determination to keep this as cold and impersonal as possible, letting me down easily. The trouble with persuading him here, though, is that even if I'm successful, it gives him way too much time to change his mind on the long drive to anywhere with a bed.
So, before I can get into Jack's pants, I'll have to make sure to get into his truck.
Fortunately, his curiosity about my plan to compromise has gotten the better of his earlier resolve; I'm definitely making progress. "Concessions? Like what?"
"I'll bring the Guinness," I say offhandedly. "You can try to watch your hockey match--"
"Game."
"Whatever. I'll handle everything else. If you can manage to last five minutes before you shoot your load into the end zone, I'll leave, and we'll both pretend this never happened."
A ghost of a smile, barely there and then gone, probably as much for the mixed-up sports metaphor as anything else, and then he comes to his feet with a resigned sigh. His eyes dart up to the camera before they settle on me, and the look on his face is heartbreaking. "I can't be your buddyfuck, Daniel," he says softly. "This program's too important to risk for something that trivial."
"Agreed," I state easily, and it's my turn to hide my smile as I also stand. "And that isn't what I was proposing. I'm going to have to insist on a short engagement," I add as gravely as I can in order to maximize the punch line. "Just to make sure we're as sexually compatible as I believe us to be, but I have no objection to eventual matrimony, assuming of course there's a sufficient dowry."
He laughs out loud at that, which is another couple of points to me. "And what would you consider a sufficient dowry, Doctor Jackson?"
Shrugging, I put the smile away permanently, because this is where I make it or break it. I don't want to think about what working here will be like if this fails.
Sliding my hands into my pockets, I assume a completely solemn air, as befits the subject matter. "The usual. Five head of cattle and exclusive access to your bed for the rest of our natural lives."
His jaw drops. Clearly, he wasn't expecting me to be this serious or this forward, but he recovers quickly. "I don't have any--"
"I'm willing to wave the cows," I concede with a dismissive gesture as I close the gap between us with a single step, just this side of inappropriately close. "Do we have a deal on the rest?" I hold his eyes with mine and then wait while he decides our future.
His mouth is open, but no sound is coming out. If it weren't for the damned camera, I'd fill it with my tongue and stamp the contract paid, but all I can do is give him a gentle nudge.
I lower my chin just a bit so that I'm looking up at him from over top my glasses, and I whisper, "The two words you're looking for, Jack, are 'I', and 'do'."
After a long couple of seconds wherein his face loses all its color, he mutters, "Jesus Christ, you're serious."
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life. If it'll tip the scales in my favor regarding the whole fraternization thing, I'll even throw in my resignation from the program." I may have to do that anyway, because suddenly, having given myself permission to imagine the two of us together for real, I don't think I can ever go back to us just being friends. I find that I'm completely at peace with this decision.
"Daniel, this program needs you--"
I shake my head. "I need you more."
He seems taken aback by this. "Do not," he challenges.
"Do so," I counter firmly. "Shall I demonstrate here? Over your desk?"
"Not if either one of us wants to stay employed."
"Your house, then?" I consult my watch. "Say, thirty minutes? We'll need to stop at the drug store for beer and--"
Without warning, he flicks off the lights, which plunges the room into near total darkness. The muted glow of the dimmer corridor lights shows only a vague outline of his profile to my unadjusted eyes. He's smiling as his hand finds my nape easily, settling there, warm and heavy and full of promise. "Let's make it twenty. I've got everything I need."
And now my heart's pounding for an entirely different reason as my body begins to respond to his touch. "What a coincidence," I reply, trying unsuccessfully to suppress my smug grin. "Me too."
End
.