The Shower Scene Series. Stargate SG-1 Fanfiction by SCribe
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All publicly recognisable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

 

Category: Humour
Season/Spoilers: Tag to Season 8 episode: Lockdown and a sequel to Pros and Cons
Series: Part of Scribe’s Shower Series
Synopsis: SG-1 try to make amends for their treatment of Daniel during Lockdown
Rating/Warnings: Just plain silly
Author's Notes: Another little snippet I found lurking on my hard drive.


It was over. The lockdown had been lifted, and everyone had been home. Sam had watered her plants. Jack had patted his dog. Teal'c had dusted his apartment. Life was returning to normal for members of the SGC. Except for Daniel.

He frowned at his sling-encased arm. Talk about inconvenient. There was a mass of cataloguing to do, and his wound - his Jack-inflicted wound - was slowing him down considerably. With a sigh he tried to lift the next artefact out of the crate by his desk. Nope, wasn't going to happen. It was too heavy and too awkward. Damn it. He was going to have to call an airman into his office to help get the wretched thing up on to his desk. Then again, perhaps he ought to call General Brigadier Sharpshooter O'Neill since this was entirely his fault.

A knock on the door stopped him reaching for the phone.

"Teal'c," he said as he recognised his visitor. "Just the person."

"Is there something I can do for you Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asked as he stepped into the room.

"Yes, there is. See this column-shaped artefact in this crate? I need it on my desk so I can study it."

Teal'c crossed the room, but instead of doing as Daniel asked, he placed an oblong gift-wrapped package on Daniel's desk.

"What's that?" Daniel asked. "It isn't my birthday."

"A peace offering," Teal'c replied. "I believe you once told me never to shoot you with a zat again. Unfortunately, circumstances forced me to ignore your request."

"You shot me with a zat?" Daniel frowned, annoyed that he still remembered little of the events that led to yet another stay in the infirmary.

"Just before O'Neill shot you in the arm."

"Right." He turned his attention to the gift. It was difficult to unwrap it with one hand, but he managed. "Weights?" he said, lifting the small dumbells from the box.

"To help you regain the strength in your arm. I would be happy to show you some suitable exercises."

"Right. Ummm, thanks." He smiled at Teal'c. "Nice thought."

"You are welcome, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c turned to leave.

"Teal'c."

"Yes."

"The artefact?"

Teal'c lifted the object effortlessly, much to Daniel's chagrin.

"You are frowning. Is that not where you wish it to be?" Teal'c asked.

"No, no, it's fine." He picked up one of the dumbells with his injured arm, grimaced and put it down again quickly. "Everything's just… fine."

 


The second knock on his door came an hour later.

"Sam. Come on in," he said, his attention immediately returning to the object on his desk.

"I came to apologise," she said.

He glanced up and smiled as he saw she was holding up a bag of chocolate walnut cookies. "Now I do remember that you zatted me."

"Sorry?" She looked confused.

Daniel gestured towards the dumbells. "Teal'c dropped by earlier to make amends for zatting me. Fortunately I don't remember that. You on the other hand…"

Sam grimaced. "Yeah, sorry. Does it help if I say I don't remember doing it?"

"Not really." Daniel held out his hand and gestured for her to hand over the cookies. He bit into one and sighed with pleasure. There's was nothing quite like a freshly baked chocolate walnut cookie. It made all the world's ills fade away.

"Dumbells?" Sam asked, perching herself on Daniel's desk and helping herself to a cookie.

"To help with my physio." Daniel flexed his good arm. "Build up the muscles."

"Right." She bit into the cookie, and then continued to talk around her mouthful. "So what did the general get you?"

"What?"

"Teal'c brings dumbells. I bring cookies. What did General O'Neill bring? I hope it was something good. He damn near killed you."

"He only intended it to be a flesh wound," Daniel said, not wanting to think about how Jack's shot had nearly killed him thanks to blood loss.

"So what did he get you?" Sam repeated.

"Oh, you know Jack."

"He hasn't apologised, has he?"

"Well, I was shooting up the 'gateroom. It wasn't like he shot me for fun or anything."

"Even so…"

"He's a busy guy. And besides, you know Jack and words."

 

 

Daniel ate alone in the commissary that evening. Sam had a date with Pete. Teal'c had left early to take delivery of some furniture. And Jack… well, apparently Jack had been stuck in meetings all day. He headed back to his office pondering over the domesticity of his team mates. Things had changed a lot since the early days of SG-1. Some things for good such as Sam finding a man she could share her life with. Some not so good. General Jack O'Neill was no where near as accessible as Colonel O'Neill, team leader. Not through any fault of his own, of course. It was just one of those things that went with the job and the responsibility. But Daniel missed the easy familiarity and the fact that previously he could barge into Jack's office safe in the knowledge that he wasn't going to find himself staring at five Pentagon bigwigs or a delegation of Russian diplomats.

He unlocked his office, flicked on the light, and stared in surprise at the small paper-wrapped package on his desk. "Hello," he said. Not surprisingly the package didn't offer a reply. He picked it up and read the scrawled message on the tag. "For you." No name, but the handwriting was Jack's, and the wrapping had that distinctive haphazard all-fingers-and-thumbs style usually associated with a three-year-old who had run amok with a roll of tape. He pulled out a penknife and cut through the various layers of tape, discovering as he did so that the wrapping paper was a memo about coffee beans. Was that meant to mean something? Or had it just been the nearest piece of paper to hand? Hopefully the latter. Jack's sudden knowledge of the dietary habits of the SGC was somewhat alarming.

Inside the memo was a small box, slighting larger than a matchbox. Daniel flipped it open and found a key. No note. No explanation. Just a small, bronze coloured key. Curious. He held it up to the light, hoping the might be some clue as to its purpose on the shaft. "Twenty-four dash five," he read. The numbers meant absolutely nothing to him. Oh well. He'd just have to track Jack down and ask him what lock it opened. His number one choice would be for it to fit a Porsche ignition, but unfortunately it was entirely the wrong size, shape and technology for that. It looked more like a safe deposit key.

He arrived at Jack's office and found the door open, but no Jack. Damn. He flopped into Jack's chair and decided to wait, twisting the key round and round in his fingers as he did so. When that grew tedious he gazed round the office. Jack really needed to do something with the walls - some art work or even a few choice memos would liven up the whitewash. Bored he battled with the urge to read some of the paperwork that was piled two foot high on the desk, but then his gaze drifted to the drawers of Jack's desk. The lock looked about right for his new key. He ran a finger along the raised metal as he debated the morality of seeing if it was a fit. He couldn't think of any reason why Jack give him a key to his desk so, given it was extremely unlikely to fit, where was the harm? He glanced at the doorway, and then, as nonchalantly as possible, slid the key into the lock.

It went in - but it didn't turn.

Leaning closer as he jiggled at the key to release it, he saw three numbers inscribed on the lock. Twenty-four dash two. Interesting. Very interesting. Climbing to his feet he headed to the door. The lock on that was twenty-four-dash-one. He was on a roll now. The door to the storeroom was twenty-four-dash-four. The filing cabinets were dash-six, seven and eight. And…

Bingo!

The remaining door behind Jack's desk was twenty-four-dash-five. Curious as to what he might find, Daniel slipped the key in the lock. It turned almost effortlessly, and he stepped through the doorway, flicking at the light switch as he went.

"So do you like it?" Jack's voice sounded behind him.

"Jack!" Daniel spun round, embarrassed at being caught in Jack's private space, even though he had a key. "It's, ummm, very…" He stared at the décor inside the small room he'd just revealed, not quite sure what to say.

"Banana?" Jack suggested.

"What?"

"The paintwork."

"I was thinking more Sunshine Yellow." He blinked as he studied the gleaming hand basin, the shower unit and the toilet. "So, ummm, what's with the ducks?" They were everywhere. Decorating the shower curtain. Stencilled on the walls. Staring out from the tiles. There was even a yellow plastic duck sitting on the hand basin.

Jack grimaced. "Apparently George requested a hunting theme."

"And cartoon ducks fit in with a hunting theme because…?"

"Because the quartermaster had a personal vendetta thing going."

"Ah." It was Daniel's turn to grimace. He decided it was time to shift the focus slightly. "I found this on my desk." He held up the key.

Jack moved round his desk, sitting down so his back was to Daniel. "I remembered what you said the other day."

"About?"

"The shower rooms always smelling of marines." Jack began to move papers from his in-tray to his out-tray.

Daniel watched him for a few moments. "Don't you actually have to read those first?"

Jack froze, and then slowly turned to look at him. "I do?"

Okay. So this was going to be another one of those Jack O'Neill moments. Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose and sucked in a breath. "So the key?"

"Any time you want to make use of the facilities. Just barge right in. Feel free."

"Any chance you might redecorate?"

"Well, you know what, I thought about it. But then I discovered how much paperwork I'd have to fill in and, well, I kind of like ducks." He gazed at Daniel. "You don't like the ducks?"

"I'd rather not have several hundred pairs of anatidaen eyes watching me in the shower," Daniel replied.

"Anna who?"

"Ducks," Daniel said.

"Worried it will drive you quackers?"

Daniel groaned. "I'm going to go now."

"It's free, you know. I won't bill you for use."

"Goodbye, Jack."

"You're not going to try it? I'm sure you'd take to it like a duck to water."

Daniel closed the door behind him. Then he chuckled softly to himself. Jack and words. It was a scary combination.



 

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