Standing at the gas station, filling the car's empty tank, I will admit to myself the true reason for my mood...I miss Daniel. Every time he goes through that Stargate without me, I have this inability to breathe until I see him walk down that ramp unscathed. I want him home with me...back to leaving books on the floor, laundry undone and vile milk in the refrigerator. I am embarrassed to admit how superstitious I have become. Apprehensive to the point that until Daniel returns, the way the house was when he leaves, is the way it will remain until he is back. I am secure in the knowledge those three empty coffee cups will remain my companions until Daniel's return from PX7864. I suppress a smile, as I become aware of another of my idiosyncrasies. When SG1 travels offworld, I never retain the knowledge of the planet's designated numbers. When Daniel is offworld, I not only can I tell you the numerical destination code of the planet, but how different their daily cycle is from planet earth.

So here I am, back at SGC to await my lover, my best friend, my soul mate to step from the event horizon. Trying to concentrate on paperwork, I cringe at my own sappiness with regard to Daniel. My desk calendar does nothing to alleviate my fears...Friday, the 13th. I have made it my business today to avoid all black cats, walking under ladders, stepping on cracks, breaking mirrors, and cleaning up bits of Daniel in my life. I sit watching the hands of the clock slowly move towards SG9's arrival time.

Carter and Teal'c stop by to ask if I would like to join them for lunch. Holding up the sandwich I had retrieved earlier from the commissary, I decline. I would not be good company. They know how I am when Daniel is not around, for their own safety; they let me lament in private.

I glance at my clock when the klaxon sounds, fear taking a tight grip around my chest. 1300 hours...if it is SG9, they are four hours early. This does not bode well for Daniel's safety. 1300 hours on Friday the 13th. The medical team has been called to the gate room and I speed up my step as they bypass me in the corridor.

Dr. Fraiser is leaning over a prone body by the time I arrive. I don't need to see Daniel, to know that is who Dr. Fraiser is attending to. My "Daniel sense" kicked in the minute those klaxons sounded. I am torn between Daniel and ripping the leader of SG9 to shreds. I opt to follow the gurney to the infirmary, gracing SG9's leader with the look I am so famous for, the one that has Major Thompson quaking in his boots for failing in the care and feeding of my archeologist.

* * * *

1900 on Friday the 13th finds me driving one bruised, bandaged and aching archeologist home, to my home...our home. Fraiser has tested him, and to my surprise, released him into my custody. In my back pocket, I have my list of usual Daniel instructions that she imparted upon me. The sleep, eat, no work, drugs every 4 hours, no caffeine rules...I probably can quote them by heart. The 'no caffeine' rule is the one I like the best, it is payback to Daniel for making me worry.

We argued the whole ride home...change that. I argued Daniel listened.

"Are you done yet, Jack," he asks with a weariness that makes me feel guilty.

But I need to get that one last thought in "No, I'm not done. Damn it, Daniel, this is Friday the 13th, bad luck day, superstitions, broken mirrors, black cat, no walking under ladders day. The odds are stacked against you to come home uninjured to begin with...."

"Because SG1 is not there watching my six?"

"I didn't say that, but yeah, Friday the 13th. Shit, Daniel whatever possessed you to volunteer to go with SG9?"

Daniel thought for a minute, I'm getting all excited thinking that maybe, just maybe, Daniel will agree with me. "Jack?"

"Yes, Daniel."

"I'm home, right?"

"Amazingly so. Bandaged and bruised, but you are home."

"I'm alive."

"Yes, Daniel."

"Fraiser said I would be okay with a few days medical downtime."

"Yes, Daniel." Clueless as to where he is going with this...wondering if Fraiser medicated him *before* we left the infirmary.

"Fraiser allowed you 48 hours downtime to make sure I followed her rules."

"Yes, Daniel."

"She told you to put me to bed and take care of me."

"Yes, Daniel."

"So, Jack. I'm alive, breathing and we have 48 hours to spend together compliments of Doctor Fraiser."

"Yes, Daniel." Maybe I'm seeing where the linguist is going with this.

Daniel chewed on his bottom lip, seductively eyeing me under lowered lashes "Jack, maybe you should explain to me again *why* you think Friday the 13th is unlucky."

I slide a glance over to Daniel, who amid all his bruises is rewarding me with genuine smile, feeling myself growing hard...48 hours in bed with Daniel. I can...we can manage that...and for the life of me I cannot remember why I believed Friday the 13th to be unlucky.