|Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I do not own the characters and indeed am only playing with them for a little while. Jack and Daniel belong to each other. I am not making any money from this and I'm still paying for everything I own so there's very little point in suing me. Totally unbeta-d. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.|
"Do you know, Carter," Jack slurred, his fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of his beer. "That very few people can really understand the whole concept," he waved his free hand in a drunken circle. "Of physics. And right now, I am not one of them."
Sam laughed atonally and slumped against the arm of the couch. "You're never one of those people, sir."
Jack pointed a finger at her accusingly. "I understand how a wormhole works!"
"That's because I made you a model out of legos," Sam tipped her head backwards to look at him, her eyes a bit glassy. "And because Daniel explained it to you after I left the room."
Jack lifted his beer to his lips and took a long drink, feeling slightly sobered at the mention of Daniel. "I understood it when you explained it too. He just explained it through The Simpsons. You remember the episode where Homer became three-dimensional?"
"No," Sam shook her head. "Can't say I do, sir."
Jack grunted and rolled onto his side. "Let's just say it explained the mechanics of wormholes better than your scientific talk."
"How did he become three-dimensional?"
"Portal in the wall. He was hiding from Patty and Selma," Jack mumbled before sitting up, the room spinning slightly. "Damn, Carter. How much did we drink?"
Sam sat up as well, peering at the empty bottles on the floor. "I think it's safe to say that I've lost the ability to count and I'm going to go pass out in your guestroom shortly."
Jack kicked at one of the discarded bottles. "Ew. Why is there Miller Lite on my floor?"
"Brief lapse in judgment on our parts," said Sam. "I think we picked it up from the liquor store down the street while trying to appear sober."
"Sobriety is over-rated," Jack said as he got to his feet and swayed in place. "You need anything?"
"Besides some good deep-dicking?"
"Let me rephrase that," said Jack, peering down at her. "Something I can give you."
"Another beer would be nice," Sam stood up as well, looking around. "Be right back, sir. Potty break."
"Just call it the can, Carter," Jack groaned. "Be a man!"
Sam snickered as she headed towards the bathroom. "You're turning into a poet on me. Careful, sir, or else I'll start calling you names only Daniel will understand."
"Too bad he's not here to interpret for me," Jack shot back as he stumbled in the other direction towards the kitchen.
Sam muttered something under her breath as she sat down on the toilet to piss. She had no clue *why* Daniel wasn't here getting drunk with Jack instead of her. Usually Jack and Daniel spent downtime together doing god knows what and drinking beer. She didn't like to ask when they returned to the base, stubble-ridden and bleary-eyed.
She washed her hands and splashed some water on her face to sober up a bit. It was a simple thing to drink with Jack, something he needed right now, but she really did like to know why.
Sam walked back into the living room only to find Jack sitting on the couch with a framed photo in his hands. She groaned to herself. Jack could turn maudlin while drinking and every so often the conversation turned to Charlie. She hated that.
This time though, the picture in Jack's hands was of Daniel.
Sam slid a hand onto Jack's shoulder, squeezing. "Jack?"
"It's what it looks like," Jack admitted softly. "Whatever you're thinking right now, that's what this is."
"You and him ... " Sam trailed off before moving to sit next to Jack on the couch. She reached for the beer Jack had gotten for her and took a long drink. "How long?"
"Not long after Sha're died," Jack murmured. "It was off and on for the most part, but there wasn't anyone else. For either of us."
"Wow," Sam exhaled slowly. "I had no idea. I mean, I knew the two of you were close, but I didn't know it was ... sexual."
"I guess I needed some good deep-dicking too," Jack said wryly as he reached for the beer. "Pretend you never heard any of this."
"Got it," Sam nodded. "So are we drinking a liquor store tonight because of him?"
"You could say that." Jack finished off his beer before dropping the bottle on the ground. "He's an ass."
"Should I just agree or do you actually want to talk about it?" asked Sam warily, hoping it wasn’t the second one.
Jack looked over at her. "I'm a guy, Carter. I might like to take it in the ass every so often, but that doesn't mean I want to start bawling like I'm talking to Barbara Walters."
Sam blanched. "Please, don't ever say you like taking it up the ass around me ever again."
"Too graphic for you?"
"No," Sam shook his head. "Too easy to believe."
Jack snorted and dropped the picture over the back of the couch. "He's still Daniel and even though I might be upset over what happened with that ass, I kind of wish he was back here so I could tell him he's an ass."
"Where'd he go anyway?"
"Out with Siler," Jack muttered. "Like I haven't noticed the way Siler looks at his ass. Bastard."
"Siler?" Sam shook her head. "I dated Siler. He's most definitely not looking at ..." Sam trailed off. "Oh. That really does explain a lot."
Jack looked up quickly. "What?"
"He was a little ... indecisive in bed," Sam admitted. "And he wore silk boxers."
"Daniel wears silk boxers."
"So therefore anyone who wears silk boxers is gay?"
"Seems like we have a pretty small group to try and make a generalized statement like that," said Sam. "But I would say yes."
"Fuck," Jack stood up quickly. "We have to go to a fucking French restaurant and cause a scene."
"What kind of scene?"
Jack sighed as he fumbled with his keys, looking at the key chain Daniel had given him, just a little trinket from Daniel's last trip to Egypt. "One of those scenes where we need to call Teal'c from the police station and tell him to put a hat on and bring his bank card."
Sam groaned and got to her feet. "Where's my shoes?"
Jack chucked his thumb in the direction of the front door. "Do you know where Chez something or other is?"
"Nope," Sam slipped her shoes on. "How many French restaurants could there be in Cheyenne?"
Jack opened the front door and was hit with a blast of cold air. "We're about to find out. Do you have your cell phone?"
Sam looked at her feet. "Uh, I guess so."
"Just say check, Carter."
Sam rolled her eyes. "Check.""Let's go get my linguist back from the clutches of that slimy, wrench-bearing, silk boxer wearing, ... Siler."