Daniel was drunk. The kind of drunk that sneaks up on a person as opposed to the "I want to drown my sorrows in a bottle" type of calculated drunk.

He gazed accusingly at the empty bottles of Smirnoff Ice that littered the counter. He didn't recall drinking one, never mind the three empties and the fourth in his hand. All Daniel could remember with some alacrity was that he'd been excited he was now on down time for forty eight hours. And Jack, Jack was—Daniel tapped the half filled bottle against his lips… arriving home tonight after being off world on a training mission for the past week.

Daniel took another swig, smiled at nothing in particular and stirred the sauce simmering on the stove.

Cooking dinner was good. Shopping at the store to pick up the items for a quiet dinner had been an excellent idea. But eating something would have been a better idea before he had started to drink, but at the moment that was akin to closing the barn door after the horses had escaped. Or was it cows?

Whatever he was drinking was damn interesting and he had absolutely no idea what the hell it had been doing in Jack's fridge, stuck in the back behind a six pack of some god awful domestic beer. He really didn't even know *why* he had started to drink except that it had been there, he had been too lazy to go to the liquor cabinet and Daniel truly *hated* Jack's choice of beer. So by process of elimination coupled with just feeling completely relaxed, Daniel was now soused and the mere act of watching the sauce slowly bubble was a source of amusement.

It wasn't that drinking was bad or that Daniel and Jack hadn't gone the bottle, vomit, headache, hangover route before, it was just that Daniel was cooking dinner in Jack's kitchen and had imbibed his way through ninety-nine percent of the four pack of Smirnoff Ice and had one hand on the handle of the fridge wondering about the possibility of a second four pack that was striking him as a bit odd, but not as odd as the disappointment of only finding two more bottles of Smirnoff's which he disposed of while preparing a tray of lasagna.

* * *

"You're drunk," Jack accused with a knowing smirk on face, his hands resting on Daniel's shoulders.

Understatement. He was buzzed, and it felt great to have his mind clouded enough to forget all that awaited him under the mountain and concentrate on the man who stood before him. Daniel smiled at Jack, pointing proudly to the oven and the set table. "I made dinner."

"Yeah. It smells great." Jack swiped a finger across Daniel's cheek, then stuck it in his mouth, sucking it clean. "Tastes great, too."

"Gross," Daniel said, stepping away from Jack and stumbling over the leg of the kitchen chair.

"Easy, big guy." Jack latched onto his bicep and held him upright.

"I'm fine." His tone of indignation was lost in a snort. "No, not really fine." Daniel tried twice before he could manage a pinch of his thumb and pointer finger together. "Maybe I should have eaten something before I drank, 'cause I'm a bit drunk."

"Yeah, I can see that—and *that*," Jack added, with a sweeping gesture of his arm towards the counter. "Carter's gonna be pissed."

"They were hers?"

"A leftover from the last barbeque, with a warning that they should still be in there till the *next* cookout because she hated—" Jack paused, touching his finger to his lips, "how did she put it? Hated the crap I have to drink in the house."

"Well, she's right," Daniel hiccupped. "Your choice of beverage usually leaves a bit to be desired. And those *are* good." He turned his gaze to the empties. "Or were good."

"Were would be the proper verb." Jack kicked out a chair, walked Daniel backwards until the seat hit the back of his knees, then gently pushed him to a sitting position. "You cooked, I'll serve."

* * *

"Are you going to eat?"

"I did." Daniel used his fork to indicate an empty corner of his plate. "See. All gone."

He returned Jack's tolerant smile and leaned back in the chair, just enjoying the blurred edges of his life at the moment.

"Feeling no pain, huh, Daniel?"

"None."

"Is there a reason for your deciding to—I mean is this a drown your—"

"Nope, no sorrows at the moment."

"That's good," Jack said, handing Daniel the end of the Italian bread, smirking. "I think it's a bit late for this, but try some carbs to soak up the alcohol."

Daniel took a bite of the bread, then pulled out the middle, piece by piece, and littered it atop his uneaten portion of lasagna. "I'm off for two days."

Jack nodded, chewing on a mouthful of lasagna.

"Forty eight hours."

Jack swallowed, chasing it down with a slug of beer. "I know."

Daniel gave Jack an honest to god pout when he smacked Daniel's hand as it inched towards his domestic brew. "I just wanted a taste."

Jack placed a protective hand around the bottle then gave a sharp shake of his head. "Don't mix your brews, okay."

"Okay."

"And damn it, Daniel—do not pout."

* * *

Daniel was literally bouncing, he just felt so *great* he was confused that Jack seemed to be placating him as opposed to being as enthusiastic as he was. He mirrored Jack's actions as he cleaned up the kitchen, ignoring Jack's snipes of impatience when the two men tripped over each other.

"Two days," Daniel reiterated.

"You said that already," Jack replied as he loaded the dishwasher.

"Forty eight hours of us." Maybe Jack just needed a physical reminder of what two whole days without the SGC could mean, and Daniel stuck his hands under Jack's shirt as he was bent over the dishwasher. "Me. You."

"A hangover."

"I feel fine," Daniel replied, rubbing his hands over Jack's lean torso.

"Ha!" Jack slammed the dishwasher shut. "I know you," he said, turning around and futilely tried to disengage Daniel's touch. "Come daybreak, you'll be complaining—"

"Will not," Daniel promised, sliding his hands to Jack's front. "How can I complain when we'll have—"

"Two days, I know."

Daniel kissed Jack, then stepped back, licking his lips. "Glad to know you listen to me."

"Always." Jack hooked his finger through Daniel's belt loop and tugged him closer.

"Not always," Daniel replied petulantly. "Remember the time when you—"

"Okay," Jack amended with a kiss. "Maybe not always."

"Are we done in here?" Daniel nuzzled Jack's neck, chuckling when he ineffectually attempted to push Daniel away as his tongue slowly moved up Jack's jugular. "I'd really like to take this somewhere where were can get horizontal."

"You mean pass out," Jack clarified.

"You're a spoilsport," Daniel huffed.

"And you're drunk," Jack reiterated. "And I've had more than enough experience with a drunken Daniel Jackson to know that the moment you lie down the next words out of your mouth hours later will be—"

"I love you."

Jack opened his mouth, then shut it with an audible click. "Ooookay, that's a good answer, though *not* the one I was going for."

* * *

Daniel adjusted his shirt and walked out of the bathroom bare-assed, bare-legged with only his baggy tee shirt doing a piss poor job of covering his body.

Except for his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, Jack was naked, propped up against the headboard with all the bed pillows shoved behind his back, reading a dog-eared paperback that he had been trying to finish for more than a month. Jack looked up over his glasses as Daniel walked to the foot of the bed.

"Nice shirt, Daniel, though I'm thinking nakedness is the look we're going for here."

Daniel rubbed his chest, activating the hidden device. The one he had found in a box of artifacts dumped in his office this morning. The one someone could lose their job over. The tiny device that really should be under lock and key at Area 51, and it would be in two days. It was just such a fortuitous discovery that had fallen into his lap, Daniel just *couldn't* resist the urge to *borrow* it. Don't ask, don't tell covered a wide range of categories.

"Kneel before your god," Daniel said in his best Goa'uld inflection, the device working beautifully to add snake resonation. His tried and failed to stifle a giggle.

With deliberate slowness, Jack removed his glasses, folded them, stuck them in the book to mark his place, then leaned over and placed them both on the night stand. He turned and observed Daniel with a shake of his head. "And people comment about *my* maturity?" He folded his arms over his head and dropped back onto the pillows.

"Did you think that maybe—"

"Goa'uld's don't giggle," Jack replied a-matter-of-factly. "They may snort a bit, rub their hands together in glee, but I'm positive I've never heard a single one of them giggle. Nor do they get drunk."

"No, huh?"

"Nope. Not even 'no, huh'," Jack smiled.

"But that kneel before your god thing—we've heard Goa'ulds say that."

"Yes, we have," Jack said, patting the empty expanse of bed right next to him. "But you didn't need that device to get me to do that."

"Really?" Daniel said, swaying slightly to the left.

Jack laughed. "Really. Now please take that thing off. You're lucky you have friends in high places otherwise you could get in a lot of trouble—" Jack squinted at Daniel. "Do I want to know *how* that came into your possession?"

"Luck," Daniel said, pulling his shirt over his head, flung it onto the chair then slowly removed the device and tossed it so it landed atop the shirt.

Jack pointed an accusatory finger at the chair. "If you weren't so drunk, I'd yell at you for doing that."

"Doing what?" Daniel asked innocently, rubbing the goose bumps on his arms.

"Never mind," Jack sighed as he patted the bed once again. "Get under the covers."

"Nope," Daniel replied with an indignant toss of his head as he pulled himself up to his full height. "I believe you've been ordered to kneel before your god."

"Oh, *I* have, have I?" Jack got out of bed and stepped slowly towards Daniel. "I kneel before *no* man."

Daniel snorted. "Yeah, right."

* * *

Daniel pulled the blanket around his damp body. "I should shower," he mumbled into the pillow.

Against Daniel's protests, Jack pulled the blanket down, sniffed his damp neck then kissed the spot he just smelled. "I sorta like the smell of a just fucked Daniel."

"I'm too tired to think of a great come back line. I'll get back to you sometime tomorrow with something witty." Daniel pulled the covers back up and buried his face even deeper into the pillow, then yawned into its plump depths. He lazily flipped over onto his back, groaning, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

Jack gently pulled Daniel's arm down. "Hangover?" he asked with an 'I told you so' gleam in his eye.

"No." Daniel rotated his shoulders. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"That's my line," Jack snorted.

"I'm catching up to you."

"I'm just slowing down. I'm letting you catch me. It's a hell of a lot more fun that way."

* * *

"Leave me alone," Daniel complained, sliding away from Jack's intrusive shake to his shoulder.

"Ahh, yes. Crankiness. Headache. That sick to your stomach feeling. Yup." Jack sighed. "Hangover."

"No, it's that sleeping, being woken up feeling." Daniel squinted at Jack, trying to force an angry, pissed off expression on his face as he tried to figure out where that lovely blurred feeling had scampered off to. His mouth was full of cotton and he clumsily reached out and waved to the glass of water Jack held. "For me?"

"Yup." Jack checked his watch. "I may be a bit late, though." He bent and examined Daniel's eyes. "They look a bit bloodshot."

Daniel sat up, took the glass of water, drank half of it before pausing. "Give me the aspirin," he demanded.

"What aspirin?

"The two tablets clenched in your hand. The ones you're holding, waiting for me to beg for them."

"Oh, these," Jack replied with a flash of an innocent smile as he opened his hand, moving it around, watching the two pills roll around like Mexican jumping beans.

Daniel grabbed the moving objects, shoved them in his mouth, then forced them down with the remainder of the water. He pushed the empty glass at Jack. "All done. I'm going back to sleep." He moved his hand over the pillow next to him. "Join me?"

Jack placed the glass on the nightstand, pulled back the covers, then slid his naked body up against Daniel. "Don't have to ask me twice."

Daniel laughed, leaning into Jack's warmth. "Nice," he mumbled.

"You're just saying that 'cause you're still drunk."

"No. If I was still drunk I would be regurgitating a ton of embarrassing emotions." Daniel shivered at the mere thought.

"Oh thank god you're not still drunk," Jack agreed, slipping his arms around Daniel's waist. "Can't have you saying all those sappy things, you know." He kissed Daniel's hairline. "The only thing I want you regurgitating is dinner."

"Yuck, Jack." He sighed deeply, capturing the edge of the buzz still floating around his body. "First time I've ever been given permission to vomit."

"First time for everything," Jack agreed, nodding so his nose brushed against Daniel's shoulders. "Say goodnight, Daniel."

"Goodnight," Daniel sighed into the darkness. In spite of the aspirin and water, he was going to be hung over in the morning. He knew it, Jack knew it. He would be cranky and irritable, and Jack would be understanding and smug. But for now, Daniel simply enjoyed the last remains of the alcohol in his system and turned over, burrowing even closer to Jack until his movements forced a grunt of annoyance, but no verbal reprimand from Jack. Liquor may be quicker, but the feeling of drunkenness was a fleeting feeling when compared to the buzz of just being here. He kept this nauseatingly sweet thought to himself, murmured a warning to his encroaching headache and buried his face in Jack's bare chest, in preparation of hiding from the morning's light.